Three Cowboy Jokes

# 1

How do you know when you get to Oklahoma? You smell cow shit.

How do you know when you get to Texas? You step in the cow shit.

# 2

An old cowboy sat down at the bar and ordered a drink. As he sat sipping his drink, a young woman sat down next to him. She turned to the cowboy and asked, "Are you a real cowboy?"

He replied, "Well, I've spent my whole life, breaking colts, working cows, going to rodeos, fixing fences, pulling calves, bailing hay, doctoring calves, cleaning my barn, fixing flats, working on tractors, and feeding my dogs, so I guess I am a cowboy."

She said, "I'm a lesbian. I spend my whole day thinking about women. As soon as I get up in the morning, I think about women. When I shower, I think about women. When I watch TV, I think about women. I even think about women when I eat. It seems that everything makes me think of women."

The two sat sipping in silence.

A little while later, a man sat down on the other side of the old cowboy and asked, "Are you a real cowboy?"

He replied, "I always thought I was, but I just found out I'm a lesbian."

# 3

An Arab, and American Indian, and a cowboy are sitting around a fire in the far West. The American Indian throws on a log and says, "Once we were many, now we are few."

"Once we were few and now we are many," The Arab boasts before throwing a log on the fire.

"That's only because you haven't played Cowboys and Arabs." The cowboy takes our his peacemaker and throws a log on the fire.

The Ferocity of the Fat Front

Obesity is a human dietary condition, in which over-eating threatens a human with heart disease, type 2 diabetes, the failure to breathe, cancer, and osteoarthritis according to Wikipedia. Obesity is determined by Body Mass Index or BMI = kilograms in weight divided by your height in meters squared.

18.5 is considered underweight
18.5–24.9 is normal weight
25.0–29.9 qualifies as overweight

Any BMI breaking 30.0 is considered obese.

At 93 kilos and 1.80 meters tall I fit into the upper echelon of overweight.

Last night I walked into Frank's Lounge and the rattlesnake-thin bartender Lola commented, "Pete, you put on some weight in Alaska?"

"Good eye." I smiled thinking that the last thing a bartender was supposed to say was how bad you look. "I'll have a Stella with ice."

Only one and I was out the door.

It was time for regain my girlish figure. New York was due for a heat wave. Some of my bloat could be attributed to beer bloat.

No problem, however the Fat Front has actively combated any strategy to slimize America and the fast food chains, Big Farm, and for years their media flacks attacked the First Lady Obama's program to create a new concept of nutrition for the young of this country.

Michele Obama's effort was strictly triage. The fat adults have lost to the Beast. Their love of potato chips and ice cream excluded any hope of rescue, but the same way the crack epidemic died after the high attrition rates of murder and incarceration, these mor-obs or morbidly obese Americans will extinct themselves with their eating binges, creating salvation for the young.

Big Farm sees the future and their executives recognize their existence depends on new recruits.

Sugar-coated cereal is the first dose of crack food for kids. Saturday morning cartoons are financed by Big Farm. Mickey Ds and Lucky Charms drenched in Coca-Cola are slung like Casper the ghost crack to eager devotees to Fat and this week the powers of obesity hired a former Obama White House communications director to front their junk food assault on the young.

The Sensible Food Policy Coalition includes General Mills, Kellogg, PepsiCo, and Time Warner. They are buying support with millions of dollars to congressmen and TV. The US Chamber of Commerce and Viacom are also members of this cabal to fat up America's young.

The former White House comm-ad is fat. She had to defend her kind. Without more fat people her race will die, because they are incapable of sustaining their numbers by procreation. Big Food is the enemy. I know. At 29 BMI I am on the edge and I'm praying to a record heat wave.

ps Trump is a tubby and he won because tubbies voted for him.>

CHAPTER 9 - AMONG THE REDWOODS from BACK AND FORTH by Peter Nolan Smith

Overfishing in the 1940s had closed Monterey’s canneries. Gone were the bars and people immortalized by John Steinbeck’s Great Depression novels and the only sign of life along Ocean View Avenue were two cats fighting over a mangled fish carcass, so I wandered away from the forlorn harbor toward the Presidio.

Two young soldiers guarded the entrance to the fort. America’s long involvement in Viet-Nam War was coming to an end and they held their weapons at ease. The three of us nodded to each other, then I adjusted the straps of his bags. The ocean wasn’t far away and I hiked across the wooded peninsula to the edge of a continent.

Beyond the dunes of Del Monte Beach waves surged from the deep water. A dozen surfers in wet suits rode the thick green swells like gods from Atlantis. California was Beach Boy country.

On the broad strand sunbathers basked like oiled seals and young mothers watched their children playing in the shallows. I shucked off my leather jacket and heavy Fyre boots, then barefooted across the warm sand to the Pacific Ocean, ending my cross-country trip.

As clear ripples eddied around my ankles, I fought the urge to strip off my clothes. Being one with the four elements was better suited for a more secluded spot down the coast and I retreated to the dunes.

Sitting on a charred log I brushed the sand off my feet and tugged on my boots, then checked my wallet. I had only spent $60 since splitting up with my friend in Lodi four days ago and was counting on the $1500 to last the summer.

My good friend was waiting down in Encinitas, but at the speed I was traveling, San Diego was more than a month away and I picked up my bags to resume my trek around the Monterey Peninsula.

For most of the 60s ABC’s Wide World Of Sports had aired the Bing Crosby Golf tournament at Pebble Beach and I stopped to observe a foursome of golfers approaching a pristine tee.

The first three landed their shots on the fairway. The last member of the quartet sliced his drive and the ball pocked off a nearby tree. The brightly attired duffer shouted out an apology and I waved to indicate that he hadn’t come close.

17 Mile Drive was too narrow for hitchhiking and I trudged into Carmel a little past 1pm. A nondescript Mexican cantina offered a taco lunch special and I ate two at the bar. A San Francisco Chronicle lay on the counter.

The previous evening Cleveland baseball fans had rioted at 10 Cent Beer Night and the California police were conducting statewide raids to find the kidnapped heiress, Patti Hearst. The FBI was offering $50,000 for information leading to her capture. Anyone with information of Tania’s whereabouts was saying nothing. The surviving SLA members had gone to ground.

Sean signaled for the check. The bill came to $2.50 and I tipped the dark-skinned waitress a dollar.

The pretty girl wished me, “Via con dios.”

“Muchos gracias.”

She waved good-bye through the window and I walked to the end of the block, and then turned right on the Pacific Coast Highway, where I stuck out my thumb.

Ever So Lonely

<

p>On a flight back to the States in 2008 the China Airlines' 747 stopped in Anchorage, Alaska. Two middle-aged men stood in line for passport control. They were wearing shorts and smiles. The older returnee from Paradise, an overweight teamster, said, "That was the best vacation of my life. I don't want it to end until I hit work on the North Slope."

"You're not going to wear warmer clothes until then," I asked viewing the snow piled atop the rugged mountains surrounding Anchorage.

"Nope and I'm thinking of going back to retire to Thailand too."

"Great."

Thousands of first-timers share the same idea and I ran down the basic Rules of Engagement for a farang in Thailand. He had been warned and like most western men he'll ignore it, because no love-starved man is smarter than 23 year-old go-go girl.

"Thanks for the information, but my tee-lat is my dream."

He trundled through immigration with a song in his heart.

As the old song goes "One night in Bangkok can make a strong man stumble."

His family will regard his plans as folly as did one man's son according to America Today. His father was a successful businessman, but at 60 unable to find any US woman willing to date him. Enter a Thai dating website and the father jets to Phuket to meet the 23 year-old masseuse of his dreams. His son is dismayed by his father's naiveté, but then realized after a long-distance phone conversation. "Well, what in the hell is the alternative? An abysmal life leading to death? Or you just keep trying with... very mixed success sometimes."

"So, how much longer do you have over there?" The son ask him.

"'till I go home, if ever," he says. "I might just pay somebody to pack me up and sell my stuff."

Another man bitten by the Thailand bug.

Few are strong when faced by a life without women in the West. It's not the sex they miss it's the love for love is always easier to fake than an orgasm.

ps Anchorage was cold.

The North Slope was colder.

Shorts don't work above the Arctic Circle.

And neither do Thai go-go girls.

Steve McQueen Wanted Dead Or Alive

Steve McQueen achieved national recognition for his role as Josh Randall in the TV western WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE. The King of Cool parlayed his anti-hero persona in this series to win a lead in THE GREAT ESCAPE, which catapulted his name into the bright lights of Hollywood.

His portrayal of a rebel sold well to the youth of America, however McQueen was a staunch republican, who strongly supported the war in Vietnam.

His conservative politics clashed with his riotous behavior leading to a 1972 arrest for driving while intoxicated in Anchorage, Alaska. McQueen was supposedly drinking on 4th Avenue, the city's toughest neighborhood and decided to do donuts in his rented Oldsmobile for the crowd of drunks, miners, hunters, and whores. The police stopped his antics and he responded to their request for a sobriety test by somersaulting down the street.

His audience applauded his exploits. They booed the police for arresting the entertainment. McQueen spent the night in jail.

It took a lot of get arrested for DWI back in 1972.

In the morning he paid bail and flew to California.

An arrest for Steve McQueen remained open until his death.

The star of BULLITT was a happy arrestee and flashed the peace sign for his mug shot, proving once more the veracity of Tom Wolfe's quote.

"A liberal is a conservative who has been arrested."

How true. How true.

April 17, 1975 - Bangkok calling Phnom Penh

Forty-two years ago the forces of the Khmer Rouge captured Phnom Penh. Joyous crowds greeted the jungle fighters with the hope of peace. The radio operator of the Royal Cambodian Army in Sihanoukville broadcasted a last message to his compatriot in his capitol.

Lieou Phin Oum.

"Goodbye sir. See you in Phnom Penh."

The Lieutenant Colonel didn't make it back to his homeland that year and missed the forced exodus of the cities. Over a million Cambodian died under the reign of the Khmer Rouge.

Year Zero.

I was 24.

I got to Phnom Penh in 1995.

Lieou Phin Oum has passed onto a new position.

He remains honored by the front-line observers of that conflict.

"Some gave some. A few gave all."

Sexual Race Traitor

2000 started the new millennium. My plans for the future were short-term, so I had a good feeling for the next decade. MTV threw a New Year's Eve bash in Times Square. Most certainly drugs and drink were involved in the evening's festivities, yet no sex since I had forsworn coupling with white women in the previous century and could count the number of Caucasian females with whom I had mated during that period on less than two hands.

My first trip to the Orient infected my libido with race-traitorism desire.

Blondes disgusted me. Redheads were revolting. Freckles were an abomination.

White women were equally offended upon hearing about my circumnavigations of the globe and their eyes spat accusations of 'child molester' and 'whore-monger' any time I mentioned the word 'Pattaya'.

The first was to expected by such ethnocentric harridans and the latter was right on the mark.

I had paid for sex and more than once with different women.

Foreplay have been a discussion of price.

Our romances lasted an hour in a cheap room on Soi 6. Divorce was never an issue fro discussion. We parted friends and I was a sexy man forever unlike in America where ever-aging women sought richer and richer men to fulfill their dream of a Park Avenue apartment and a 'cottage' in the Hamptons. This greed corrupted their beauty as completely as leprosy and they ceased to appeal to my lust.

I thought I was broken, until I hit LA in 2002. My cousin Sheree and I went out with my old girlfriend, Nancy. She was working as a reader for a talent agency. Her tastes ran to bisexual masochism and I exploited her weakness with the delicacy of a East St. Louis pimp.

In the morning she sulked at the breakfast table.

"You fucked me like a Thai whore."

"So you faked your orgasm?"

"No."

"Then it must have been as good for me as it was for you."

I complimented my bad behavior by dropping $50 on the table and walking out of her Hollywood bungalow, expecting a knife in my back, but Nancy wasn't a Thai whore and I was glad that white women in America had had their sexuality ripped from this body and soul.

They are no longer a temptation.

And my wives couldn't be happier about that.

Me?

I am a little sad, but only because my next flight to Thailand is a month off.

I could use a cheap fuck in a cheaper hotel, but like I said I'm a race traitor and my heart like my cock is true.

Traitor # 45

In Edward Everett Hale's "The Man Without a Country" a a young United States Army lieutenant, Philip Nolan, befriend by Aaron Burr, Alexander Hamilton's killer, who attempted to establish a republic on the Mississippi far from Washington.

At Philip Nolan's trial he declared to the judge, "I wish I may never hear of the United States again!"

And that was his sentence.

To never hear the words again.

And for the rest of his life he voyaged on US Navy ships without ever hearing of his estranged homeland.

His rancor turned to love and Nolan told a young sailor, "Remember, boy, that behind all these men... behind officers and government, and people even, there is the Country Herself, your Country, and that you belong to her as you belong to your own mother. Stand by her, boy, as you would stand by your mother... !"

Philip Nolan died at sea.

A traitor in love with his country.

After WWII the USA and the West waged a global Cold War against the USSR and its soviet client states.

Stalin was a name of horror.

Godless communism was the religion of Russia.

The fall of China to Mao's Red Army upped the stakes.

More defeats followed in rapid succession.

Korea.

The surrender of Dien Bien Phu liberated France's Indochina colonies.

The USSR beat the USA into Space with the launch of Sputnik.

The satellite flew over America far out of reach of our missiles and nuclear bombs.

And then Castro took Havana from the Mafia with Che Guevera at his side.

The estates of the rich were turned over to the people.

Fidel spoke for hours on the radio and the cuban people listened to them.

Communism was only 90 miles from Key West.

Vietnam fell to Ho Chi Minh's forces.

Laos to the Pathet Lao and Cambodia to the genocidal Khmer Rouge.

Central America, Ethiopia, and finally Afghanistan fell to the Russian Bear.

Nikita Khruschev's boast "We will bury you." seemed to be coming true.

But the USSR ad no food.

Vodka ravaged the population.

It was cheap food.

The missiles in the silos were drained by the troops to get at alcohol.

And they didn't have drag racing.

Although the USSR had the Hadi-5

Plus Sputnik.

Americans said, "Fuck Space. Fuck Hadi-5. We got Daytona."

The USSR collapsed in the 90s.

Its empire splintered into smaller states, however Russia remained Russian.

Americans thought the Bear was no longer a threat.

They were wrong.

In 2016 the Electoral College voted Donald Trmp to be America's 45th president.

His best friend is Boris Putin, the leader of All the Russias.

“I have no relationship with him other than he called me a genius. He said Donald Trump is a genius and he is going to be the leader of the party and he’s going to be the leader of the world or something.”.

Yesterday ex-FBI director testified before Congress about Trump's ties with its old enemy.

One word came to mind.

Traitor.

Traitor to the USA.

Except to his KKK alt-right minions.

To them # 45 is still a hero.

White is right.

President Fatso

# 45 XXXXXL won the 2016 Electoral College, because at people i America decided that they wanted one of their own in the Oval Office.

I recently mentioned my theory to my older brother, who replied that fat comments were not appropriate.

"I'm more than chubby."

"But you're skinny in comparison to Trump."

"Agreed. Maybe he should wear black."

You mean like Orson Welles."

The famed director weighed over 500 pounds at the time of death from a heart attack.

I can't attack Welles too much.

He was an atheist.

"No, I mean the one and only Man in Black, Johnny Cash."

"Don't you dare mention his name in the same sentence as # 45." Frunk and I had seen Johnny Cash in HOOTNANNY 65.

We were that old.

And Trump wasn't that much older, but damn that man is fat.

And let's not forget.

Stupid.

Not like brother and me.

We were thin once.

And so was Trump as an orphan in Pakistan.

Actually he was fat then too.

The abandoned son of a KGB officer.

Last name - Putin.

Vladimir Spiridonovich Putin.

Which means Donald Trump in Russian"

It now makes sense.

The fat people allied themselves with the KGB.

And none of them wear black.

Dank Himmel.

ps Fuck The Koch Brothers

The Choice Of Life

Beijing and rampant consumption under the myth of sustainable growth.

Or Ban Nok Thailand.

The rice fields slowly recovering fromthe poisoning of pesticides and debts to the banks.

I vote for the Village of the Birds.

The Western Forests are home.

Au Revoir Paris

The Mendenhall Glacier outside of Juneau was called the Sitaantaago by the local Tglinit tribes. The fifteen mile-long ice mass is located 12 miles from my house here. The bus can get me there in thirty minutes, although a tramp of 3-4 hours is required to reach the western glacier.

A week ago I hiked to Nugget Falls and napped on the gravel sand spit for an hour.

Back in the last century the glacier covered my resting place.

The cause of its retreat has been attributed to global warming.

Not everyone agrees with that thought.

This week Donald Trump announced his decision to pull out of the Paris Climate Accords.

His fat minions in their SUVs rejoiced by eating more fast food.

Some had to get the Mickie Ds faster.

Trumpites were in a frenzy.

They hate everything French other than French Fries.

They hate the EPA

And hippies.

But they love their Trump.

He's one of them and they want to be him.

A rich white man.

Unfortunately the CIA knows he's Pakistani.

Which is why he loves the Saudis.

# 45 is one of them.

ps The Saudis have not withdrawn from the Accords.

Only Syria, Nicaragua, and the USA.

pps I will always love Paris.