Almost every American kid likes to eat a hotdog, especially in the summertime and especially at a picnic. I never got to eat a hotdog at a baseball game because there weren't any ballparks in my area when I was growing up in the last century. But this post isn't about kids eating hotdogs. It's about grownups eating hotdogs. A different kind of hotdog. The kind you eat in October.
I called them "sour dogs' because they were served with sauerkraut on top of them and lots of yellow mustard on top of that. And they were washed down with beer. Lots of beer. Sour dogs were definitely not summer picnic hotdogs or ballpark hotdogs or any kind of hotdog that a kid would want to eat, even though some kids would eat them. Without the beer, of course.
By the time I was a middle-aged man totally addicted to pizza and Mexican food, my favorite holiday was Oktoberfest, the way Americans celebrated it. The main attractions in a Pennsylvania Oktoberfest were the "beer dogs", the beer that made them taste even better and the polkas that were an integral part of most European-American traditions. In Pennsylvania, where German-Americans were more prevalent and comfortable than just about any other place in America, Oktoberfest was an autumn rite of passage.
I never liked "beer dogs" when I was a kid because I never liked sauerkraut when I was a kid. When I was a kid, sauerkraut looked, smelled and tasted like old cabbage that should have been thrown out weeks ago. But, as a grown man, I found all that nauseating stuff suddenly very appealing. That's what being a grownup is all about. Liking things that kids hate and hating things that kids like. There's nothing wrong with that. This is Earth, after all, where up has been down and wrong has been right — and vice versa — since the dawn of man. No use fighting it.
Of course, all the grownups at a Pennsylvania Oktoberfest always forget that the real reason they're celebrating is because all the crops are now in the barn or sold to the farmer's market and especially that all the hay has been baled. I was going to call this post "Hay Dogs" but I didn't want to steal the thunder from the remake of "Straw Dogs" that just hit the theaters. Thank you, but I'll stick to the original version with Dustin Hoffman and David Warner. Great acting can never be replaced by nastiness and special effects. Not now and not ever. But there I go getting off the track again.
And, oh yeah, hotdog lovers all over America had to put a couple more sad but true facts out of their minds or there would have never been any American Oktoberfests at all. This was the reality that sauerkraut was, indeed, nothing more than rotten old cabbage and hotdogs were mostly cow lips and udders and beer wasn't even fit to drink. That's why it smelled like urine and tasted like stump water. Another kid dislike that grownups, and especially Appalachian men, found terribly addictive.
No, I don't drink beer anymore but I can't resist a whole pot full of "sour dogs" every October. And when they're all gone I set my sights on New Year's, when I can do it all over again, and this time with lots of pork thrown in. Let's face it, we're all stuck here on this big, blue, green and brown marble. Might as well taste as much of it as we can before they send us someplace else.
It's hard to believe, but redneck raconteur Tapper actually agreed to a fourth interview by his bartender friend, Bert. Some people will do anything for their fifteen minutes of fame.
Dirty bastard bartender Bert promised not to get Tapper's face in the video this time. That's why the picture is so dark. Bert's not really being nice. It just seems that way. Tapper told Bert that if he gets his face in another video he'd "knock him through himself".
Wow, we don't even want to think about what that would look like.
Remembering my former life on Mars is always a bummer because being a Martian was so much nicer than being an Earthling. When I was from Mars I wasn't really little and green, you know. I was salmon-colored and stood 7 feet, 4 inches tall at age 75 (Earth Years), which is thirty-something by Earth standards. Martians didn't measure age in Martian years or any other years because we Martians lived in the present. For us, every day was today and every time was now.
However, I had expected to live to be 200 or more but when I was only 75 (Earth Years) Planet X (Nibiru) passed between Earth and Mars, destroying the planet Xerxes with its powerful gravitational pull and turning it into an asteroid belt. Nibiru's gravitational wake also caused such massive eruptions in the crust of our beautiful red, green and blue planet that the hot, molten core spewed out and evaporated our seas and rivers and lakes. When the steam finally cleared, there was only a trace of salt water flowing down the massive gorges that Earthlings call "canals". But they aren't "canals". They're breaches in our planet's crust caused by the transient proximity of the 10th planet Nibiru. Holes that tapped our molten core and turned Mars into a dusty red rock.
But I'm getting off the track, as usual. Whenever I can manage to remember myself as a seven-foot-four Martian who was still twenty years away from Martian mid-life, I usually get so mad that I'm currently this little "pink" man from Earth who's barely five-foot-eight, that I temporarily blow a fuse and forget what I'm doing. Hmmm. Now I remember.
It's bad enough that I'm an Earthling shrimp now instead of a towering Martian without having to be referred to as a "little green man from Mars". That's not my idea, as you are well aware. That's a stupid misconception of mid-20th Century Earthling thinking that Hollywood and the comic books made a bundle from by perpetuating that myth for payola. Crap, I'm getting off the track again.
OK. I'm getting back on track now. Yeah, it's bad enough that the Earthling vessel in which my immortal life essence currently dwells (a human being) is trying to parlay that "little green man" myth into mucho moola so he can buy recliners and ice cream and cigars and things like that for himself. But now the little opportunist has my "mythical" image inside a freaking moon. Yeah, instead of on Mars. Yeah. Now I'm some new kind of celestial body that only a disturbed mind could create. A "lunatoid" created by an independent lunatic. What's next?
Hell, I don't know which is worse. Being misrepresented by an ambitious lunatic for the comical amusement of blog readers or having your life activity reduced to being a moron from the moon who looks like he just loves to have his picture taken. Either way, I'm certainly no magnificent seven-foot-four Martian from the past anymore. Hell, I'd just rather be the little five-foot-eight indie author S. O. B. that I really am this time around. But, hell, no one seems to be happy with that scenario. So, I guess I'll just keep playing along for now.
Playing games for money sure beats the pants off wallowing in the past for nothing.
July at Little Green Man from Mars is dedicated to the videos made by Little Green Man. Click on the picture below for our "Green TV" special. We'd call it a "Marathon" but there are only five videos. So, there you go.
Author's Note 8-8-12: Since this post was written four videos has been added to the Little Green Man page at Junk TV. That makes nine videos in all. Still, that's no marathon, compared to Andy Griffith or I Love Lucy, if you get our drift.
Help keep Little Green Man from Mars up and running. If you appreciate all the anecdotes, stories, videos and commentary you can read here and on his other eight blogs, then support the author by purchasing one of his books. Little Green Man, Baby Boomer Boy, Fred Fortune, Jonco Bugos, Mike the Obscure and Michael Casher thank you for your patronage.
Author's Note 12-27-12: The book covers in this flash image were replaced by new covers in 2012. Additionally, I kept this post as a piece of online history, even though its contents are no longer relevant, because this blog is now part of a book. Go here for an explanation about why this post is no longer relevant and why Michael Casher no longer blogs on a regular basis and why he no longer writes this blog. That's right, supporting your local blogger is a moot point now. Too bad. It could have been a lot of fun.
Now don't get me wrong. I may not have started my cosmic sojourn on Earth like everybody else but that doesn't mean that I don't have a lot of the same propensities that Earthlings do. Just because I was from Mars in my previous life doesn't mean that I was some little green Namby Pamby who would be afraid to bait a hook, for example.
As a matter of fact, I have made holes in earthworms and meal worms with a fishing hook many times, in the hopes that I might catch a nice Brook Trout or Rainbow Trout that would fry up nice with butter and go good with some fried potatoes and pork and beans. Followed by a cup of coffee and a wedge of blackberry pie which might be followed by a shot of Jack Daniels, a bottle of lager and a big fat cigar.
But I never once considered the "sport" of making holes in fish just for the fun of it. Yeah, I know, it's called "Catch and Release" fishing and it's almost exclusively the summer pastime of American fly fisherman, many of whom are those clothes-horse and gear-horse fisherman who like to fish the way they see people fishing in upscale catalogs that cater to monkey-see monkey-do middle-class Americans with too much disposable income and too much time on their hands. But, giving these "fishermen" the benefit of the doubt, I'll admit that they just might be people who like to catch fish but who don't like to eat fish or smell fish or who can't cook fish or who simply won't take the risk of eating a fish that might be chock-full of PCBs or mercury or E. Coli bacteria. Now, that makes a lot of sense.
What doesn't make sense to me is that making a hole in a fish with a hook just to take it out again is any kind of sport. I think I'm one of the few people who wonder how long that fish that's just had a hole made in it by a "Catch and Release" fisherman has to heal before another "Catch and Release" fisherman makes another hole in it with a fishing hook just to pull the hook out again. As far as the "Catch and Release" fishermen go, I try not to think about them at all.
But, then again, I am originally from the planet Mars, so don't go by me.
It didn't take me my whole life to discover that Earth had its own set of mathematical formulas and laws and principles governing physics, the science of energy and masses in motion. I learned at a very early age that these laws were written in Hollywood and that they usually converted moviegoers instantly into mindless morons who were so taken with Technicolor and Panavision and Surround Sound and whatnot that they never noticed that the real laws of mathematics and physics were being broken left and right, just to make a lousy buck. Here are a few examples, in no particular order:
1. In Hollywood, 2+2 hardly ever equals 4. Especially in westerns and action/adventure crime movies. Back in the 1950s and 60s, nobody shot six rounds from their six-shooters. They usually shot twenty or thirty, sometimes even fifty rounds before they ran out. When I got older, I heard that Hollywood's excuse for this excessive use of cowboy bullets was to blame the film editors who didn't bother to count the bullets when they spliced and cut and taped the celluloid film back together. That's probably true. But that's also passing the buck.
My theory is that these editors were a lot like the screenwriters. They lived most of their lives East of the Hudson River, where no one knew anything about guns except real cops and real robbers. That's also why submachine guns (machine guns that fire pistol bullets, not rifle bullets) in movies spit bullets like paint sprayers instead of like real submachine guns, hammering out at least a hundred rounds per thirty-shot stick magazine before it's time to change "clips". The muzzle flare from most Hollywood submachine guns is also bigger and brighter than real submachine guns because the "stage rounds" in Hollywood are packed with a lot more powder and no bullet whatsoever.
Screenwriters, directors and actors being brainless about mathematics and clueless about firearms is also why Winchester rifles are cocked and cocked and cocked a dozen times or more in westerns, no doubt for effect, before they're ever fired. Manhattanites who write for Hollywood have no clue that each time a loaded lever action rifle is cocked it ejects a shell. In this case, an unspent casing with the primer, powder and bullet still intact. This lack of knowledge about firearms, mixed with the inability or refusal to count, is also why most Beretta 92F pistols in movies from the 1980s and 90s had their hammers manually cocked for effect, even after firing. Semi-automatic pistols automatically cock the hammer between rounds so, if you had to cock it yourself after you just fired it, you would have to let the hammer down first. And if you chamber the damn thing over and over again, you'll just be pumping your unused cartridges onto the ground. Somebody from Appalachia or Texas or Chicago needs to tell these stupid people to stop playing with their guns and holster them.
Hollywood should have hired an average redneck, hillbilly asshole like me from just about any Appalachian county and we could have told you all that. And you'd only have to give us a couple of bucks — just enough for beer money — and you'd have had a movie that's in keeping with the real principles of mathematics and the laws of physics. And you'd save yourself a lot of embarrassment when the average Joe and Jane from flyover country points and laughs at your stupid, sorry, know-it-all, big-city mistakes. Like having Bruce Willis tell airport police in "Diehard 2" that a certain terrorist's Glock handgun wouldn't show up on a metal detector because it was made out of porcelain. Porcelain? Porcelain would be OK if the object in question was a knickknack or an antique commode, instead of a firearm. The Glock firearm in this movie was a high-quality Austrian handgun with a frame that was made out of polymer, a tough-as-steel plastic used for making firearm frames. Furthermore, even a pistol with polymer frame still has metal parts inside it. Like the barrel, receiver and firing pin, to name a few. And, you bet, these metal parts would definitely show up in a metal detector screening. Ouch. And guess what? The cartridges for a 9mm, 10mm or a 40S&W caliber Glock pistol are like any other cartridges. They have metal casings and metal bullets that would also show up under a metal detector screening. Ouch again.
2. Nobody in Hollywood knows anything about air pressure. A case in point is the scene in the movie "Eraser" where James Cromwell sticks a revolver in his mouth and blows the back of his own head off in front of Vanessa Williams. When the exiting bullet shatters the window behind him, air rushes out of the room like a 747 fuselage that's been blown wide open. What? Was his office at 30,000 feet? Wow, that's really moving up the corporate ladder. Or maybe all corporate executives, according to Hollywood, have pressurized offices.
3. In case no one ever noticed, cars don't automatically flip over when they go fast. You need a hidden ramp designed by a special effects person or a prop person to lift the front wheel up and tip the car over. In Hollywood movies, cars are ramping up and flipping over so much that there are probably moviegoers who think a speeding car becomes airborne at some point.
4. Hand grenades, bombs, rocket-propelled grenades, mortar shells and howitzer shells don't really make huge orange fireballs when they explode. They usually tear up a lot of ground and shred the target area and blast out more gray and black dirt and shrapnel with an explosive gray cloud of burning powder and less red or white or orange fire in the middle of the explosion. That's real military ordnance doing what it does. Not the slow-moving, billowing, orange mushroom that rises dramatically into the air like a blooming chrysanthemum in early September. Only gasoline, propane and specially-formulated flammable liquids and gases produce Hollywood fireballs.
And, by the way, cars don't explode every time they crash, regardless of whether or not they ramped and flipped before they crashed. And, while we're at it, forget the white flames in the Hollywood movies. I doubt very much if you'll ever have to fight your way out of a pit of flaming phosphorous as long as you live. Unless you find yourself in a Hollywood movie.
5. You can't jump out of a plane in a rubber life raft, inflate it on the way down, land on a waterfall without flipping over and then float merrily down a river until hill people in India welcome you and feed you bugs for lunch. That can only happen in an Indiana Jones movie and nowhere else in the entire Milky Way Galaxy.
6. If you stick a big knife into someone's belly and twist it and pry on it and twist it while you're practically embracing him — like the sick, demented villains that moviegoers have the hots for these days— you will get blood on your own clothes. In fact, your poor victim will spray you like a blood fountain until you let him go. People need to know that sticking a large piece of sharpened steel into another human being is not only cruel and inhumane, it's really messy. For both of you.
On the other hand, if you chop a bunch of people's heads off in a single stroke with a big sword, like Uma Thurman did in "Kill Bill", their necks will not become geysers, spraying blood ten feet into the air. One foot, maybe. But not ten. And, no matter how hard you try, you will never get ten gallons of blood out of one bad guy. Not when the average adult body contains a mere six quarts of blood. Once again, 2 + 2 = not 4 in Hollywood.
7. And, while we're at it, most gunshots fired into human heads produce exit wounds, especially when the bullet is a full metal jacket or fired from a modern handgun using high-powered ammunition like a .357 Magnum, 9 mm and especially, a .40 S&W. You don't get "cherry pie" on the mirror behind the guy you just shot in the head unless the bullet came out first and cracked that mirror. A case in point is the scene in the movie "Best Seller" where mob hitman James Woods shoots another mob hitman in the head in front of a bathroom mirror, producing lots of "cherry pie" (what a gross analogy) on the mirror behind the victim but no bullet hole in said mirror. And nobody can shoot somebody in the side of the head while they're sitting by a car window and splatter the window behind them without breaking it in the process. The first "hit" scene in the movie "Magnum Force" illustrates my point. Yeppir, the bullet exits an exit wound first. Then the "cherry pie".
What's even dumber is the movie "No Country for Old Men" where they show that circus freak killer off a motorist by making a hole in his head with a bolt driven by an air pressure tank. This contraption is used for killing livestock and there's no projectile. Therefore, there couldn't be an exit wound. And yet we clearly see a spray of blood and brains exiting the back of the victim's head. OK, they screwed up once. Typical Hollywood non-ballistic science. But they screw up again later in the movie when the Sheriff played by Tommy Lee Jones confirms with his deputy that there was "no exit wound." Wow. I guess we're either supposed to forget we saw the first scene or else be dumb enough to think that when somebody makes a hole in your forehead with a two- or three-inch bolt, the back of your head will explode with "cherry pie". Wow. Not only do most Hollywood screenwriters know nothing about firearms and ballistics, Hollywood directors are at least as dumb about these things or else they're sleeping in their director's chairs during the filming.
By the same token, a bullet might knock a gunshot victim down but no full-metal jacket bullet in the world is going to slam a person backward twenty feet into a wall (as if the actor were quickly being pulled backward by a rope that the FX people rigged up). Yep, that's Hollywood rewriting the laws of physics again. A case in point is the movie "Eraser" again. First of all, no aluminum bullet can be launched from a rifle at the speed of light. The speed of sound (1129 feet per second at sea level), sure, but not at 186,000 miles per second. A bullet going that fast would burn up in the atmosphere before it even hit its target and would probably burn up the barrel it was fired from as well. But if an impossible bullet from that ridiculous "Rail Gun" did hit a guy in the chest, it would shoot through him like a laser beam and he'd drop straight down like a dead Nazi who'd just been drilled by a 30.06 full metal jacket Spitzer bullet fried from an M1 Garand. It takes a lot of transferred energy to knock a grown man back twenty feet. And an imaginary bullet tunneling through a torso at 186,000 miles per second would transfer hardly any "muzzle energy" at all to anybody. That's real ballistics, not the Hollywood version.
8. If two guys in a western hammer each others faces for five or six minutes someone has to bleed. If a cowboy or a bank robber in a modern movie gets shot in the chest — now get this — they have to bleed. I guess Hollywood screenwriters who wrote the scripts for movies and television back in the 1940s, 50s and 60s didn't know squat about blood pressure. No wonder they didn't know diddly about air pressure, either.
9. Outer Space is a vacuum. When an approaching "waffle iron" in a cheesy, made-for-the kiddies science fiction movie is seen traveling through space, it couldn't possibly be heard by anyone watching it. In the real universe, there couldn't possibly be any sound outside the "space craft". Fighter space craft launched from these clumsy, preposterous "waffle-iron" battle cruisers could never make screaming noises while they tear through space in real life, either. You need gases, liquids or solids to conduct sound, not a vacuum. Oh, sure, I know why Hollywood violates these laws of acoustics. To make money, what else? Still, it's a crying shame. But, they're right about one thing. In the vacuum of space a speeding "waffle iron" can be as graceful as a flying saucer. Until it encounters some gases or, worse yet, some planet's atmosphere. Then its "waffle iron" design would become just as cumbersome and ridiculous as it looks to anyone with a brain.
10. The outside world — even on a planet as screwed up and polluted as planet Earth — isn't just gray and black and blue and various shades of each. Only in Hollywood. The real world is in living color. So, take off your Ray Bans. And, while you're at it, get your actors and actresses to lose those black leather jackets, trashy black jeans and ill-fitting shirts and try on some colored clothing. It's been around for centuries. And while you're at it, make them bathe and shave. Maybe they can't act but they could at least look clean. Once again, nobody can have a five-o'clock shadow for three or four weeks. Sooner or later it becomes a beard. That's right, in the real world 2 + 2 = 4. And you damn well know it.
Originally hailing from Mars, my first encounter with Earth's man-made monsters was even more frightening than my first encounter with mankind. As I've mentioned before in earlier posts, it didn't take me very long to get the picture that men and women from Earth lied, cheated, stole and fought a lot — mostly with one another — and that children in the technologically advanced countries on this planet were supposed to be "seen and not heard", in keeping with the English tradition of living your grown-up life all for yourself and to hell with the kids, who do nothing but tie you down. That's why boarding schools, baby sitters and day care centers were invented.
And even though people are by far the biggest monsters created by nature on planet Earth, the most hideous man-made monster of all time was one of the first man-made creations I ever encountered. This monster ranks even higher than the automobile, the Harley-Davidson motorcycle and the ATV, which annoy and enrage former Martians more than they actually make us "afraid". The thing that strikes fear into the hearts and minds of former Martians more than anything else on this planet is so hideous that it cannot be pictured here. You'll have to view it on another page. Do so at your own risk.
You can pretty much gauge the quality of your life by the first words you utter when you wake up in the morning. No, this is by no means a scientific rule of thumb to go by. But if you ever catch yourself uttering words or sentences like these first thing in the morning, well, maybe your life isn't on some kind of down slope but there might be big trouble ahead.
What's the cure? Beats me. If I knew that I wouldn't be online writing a pathetic post like this one. I'd be knee-deep in pizza and beer and halfway through the Dirty Harry series for the umpteenth time. OK, here we go. Here are a dozen morning lines to watch out for.
Here are six morning lines to watch out for when you're just waking up and your eyes are still closed. If you utter this kind of stuff before your eyes are even open, the rest of your day may very well be downhill.
"Yeah, be right there."
"It wasn't my fault."
"And don't you forget it."
Here are another six warning lines to watch out for. These often blurt out when you're just waking up and your eyes are wide open. And you have no interest in getting up:
"And there he goes again!"
"...and that's what I have to worry about."
"I just know I left the garage door open last night."
But, wait, no need to cash in the chips already. So what if you had a nightmare and you're still talking it out when morning rolls around? So what if you wake up and don't want to get out of bed or do a damn thing all day long? Big deal. It happens to the best of us. In fact, I've even come up with a short list of morning lines that are temporary antidotes for the disease that causes morning-line sickness. There's probably no cure for misery except health and happiness but even they've been known to be upstaged periodically by paranoia and restlessness. So, here are six lines that might not cure what ails you but they're almost guaranteed to put the kibosh on any negative morning utterances before they have the chance to cross your lips:
"Two eggs over easy and keep the coffee coming."
"My farts don't stink so that must be somebody else's."
"You're welcome, babe. My pleasure."
"Jeeves! Warm up the Bentley!"
"Feels like Saturday to me."
See what I mean? You're damn right. I feel better already.
One thing about living on this planet that I'll never get used to is snow. The very idea of snow, first of all. The fact that it gets so cold that water in the sky actually floats down instead of falling down and then piles up and covers everything instead of running off everything and going away may be nothing to regular Earthlings but it's still a pretty weird deal to me. So, the fact that snow exists in the first place is the first thing I'll never get used to.
Hey, I'm sorry if this opening doesn't grab you but you'd almost have to be from another planet in a previous life, like I was, in order to understand how ridiculous it is to live on a planet that's half covered with snow half the time. It's almost as dumb as Earth people living in deserts where there isn't any water and never will be. Places like Northern Africa, the Middle East, the Australian Outback and Las Vegas, Nevada. But, here I go again, getting off the track. I want to talk about how dumb it is to live in places where there's snow on the ground four to six months of the year, not where there's no water all year round.
OK. So, not only is it dumb to live where snow covers the ground anywhere from October to April, it's also costly. Snow might appear to be free but nothing is really free on this planet. Even love and respect are up for sale here. If you can't find them, you can always buy them. But here I go again. I don't want to talk about love and respect, I want to talk about how snow is big business on Earth.
Let's face it, it's cold where it snows on this planet. And, if you want to keep warm, you have to pay for that warmth. Just think of the things a person has to buy in order to keep warm when it snows. Home heating fuel, hats, scarves, winter hats, gloves, mittens, winter coats, boots, heavy socks, ear muffs, pocket warmers, electric socks, attic insulation, weather stripping, door dogs, vodka and the list goes on and on. None of this stuff is free, either.
Then there's snow removal. Snow doesn't go away on its own until it becomes water again and that can take months in the really cold places on planet Earth. So, you gotta get yourself tools for removing that snow. But first, you need to buy things to keep you warm while you're removing all that snow. So, if you don't have them already, you need some hats, scarves, winter hats, gloves, mittens, winter coats, boots, heavy socks, ear muffs, pocket warmers, electric socks and so on and so forth.
Then you need the real tools. Shovels that lift snow, shovels that push snow and shovels that are easy on your back. You need ice scrapers to remove ice and snow from your car windshield and windows. You need a little "car shovel" in your trunk in case you get stuck in the snow. You need radial tires or snow tires or tire chains or tire studs. Then you need salt to melt the snow where people walk. You need the cheaper rock salt for the asphalt and the more expensive ice melt for the concrete or else it'll be crumbly in a couple years. If you have money, you can buy a snow blower. If you don't do anything about the snow, you and your loved ones will be skeletons when they find you in the spring.
If you have a lot of money, you can hire someone to plow your driveway and shovel your walks for you and you can even pay someone to go to the store for you so you won't have to buy more gloves and coats and boots that look good on you when you go outside. When you want to know when the snow is coming, you turn on the cable or dish TV that you already pay too much for and watch the various weather reports.
These meteorologists and weather anchors make a lot of money to tell you the bad news. The people who plow you out, the people who make and sell all that heavy winter clothing, the people who make all those shovels and ice picks and rock salt, the people who predict all that snow and the people who raise all the prices on the fruit and vegetables that are hard to get because snow covers half the Earth half the time know, hell, more than anybody else, that snow business is the biggest and the best business in town.
Little Green Man presents the third installment in the "Tapper" series. In this video, redneck yarn spinner, Tapper, gets pie-eyed and blabs his baby-boomer head off about his alien abduction experiences. Dirty bastard bartender Bert gets Tapper's face in this video, despite slurred protests from a disgruntled Tapper.
Did Tapper say too much or is he still full of it? You decide.
Author's Note 4-23-14: Don't even waste your time trying to watch this video on Chrome. Your biggest obstacle will be Google. It will hang, freeze, and the feed will even withdraw. Also, this video is an uploaded video to Blogger. It does not exist at YouTube because I did not upload it to YouTube. Most of my humorous videos contain "serious humor" and this one is no exception. To help you understand why I did the "Tapper" video series, you might want to look at some related posts on some of my other blogs here at Blogger :
I'd also like to take this opportunity to say "hi" to all you lurking hybrids and draco minions and all your lurking human "property", the ones who'd rather feather your dark-souled "caps" than spend a few bucks on hidden truths, mixed with humor and entertainment, written by me. If you think I don't see through you all, and your Cabal-supported efforts, or if you think for one moment that I'm afraid of any of you or the creepy, vile powers and personalities that you serve, you are sadly mistaken.