Chuck, you should start writing over at The New Times. They are always looking for a "12 year old girl" gosip columnist.

You and Lemons can share a cubicle...or twinkies.

Thankfully I am skilled in the arts of interrogation.

By brutally and mercilously interrogation these children with the use of freezer pops, frozen grapes and other sweets the truth slowly comes out.

All the girls as named Alexa and all the boys are named Cody but they also have these other names which I love so much.

I have a daughter named Shy-Anne. Her name is a play off of Cheyenne where her parents came from. But they named her Shy-Anne. We have another daughter and her name should be Reily but we spell it "Ray-Lee", a tribure to sunshine and her Southeran heritage where Robert E. Lee is still an icon.

Somewhere out there I have a black son. His name is Javel, son of Dolly. I love him with all my heart. He is the first black son I had and he is also the first black person I knew who could not, would not accept the fact that I am not black.

See to him, we were the "homeys" so that meant we were all black. All of the homeys are black, all of the meanies are white.

But that ain't the story I meant to tell, what they basically got me doing is being retired and now I'm the most highly armed and trained baby sitter in Northern Arizona.

See I suspect they are playing the old switcheroo because all these little tykes keep running up and I say "now who the hell are you?" and they say "don't you recognize me daddy, I'm your daughter".

And I try and do due dilligence and I say why if that is true what is your name and all the little girls say "my name is Alexa".

Now it is true, a girl called Alexa is on the family roles but if I'm not mistaken, you are in high school. And there's only supposed to be one of you.

And how it is I have sons and daughters all with the same name but different color hair I cannot explain.

All I know for certain is I like beer and they like watermellon and instead of firearms, they like squit guns.

And it seems like when I step out of the trailor to take a pee, they are watching and wating and got the drop on me and they attach themselves to my arms and legs.

And then they are all poking my  eyes with sticks and going through my pockets to see where I am hiding the candy and in military terms I am just overwhelmed.

The one counter-measure is Hazels and she's an old horse we keep around because she has no place else to go.

Now Hazels knows the deal and if you ever saw sheer terror in the eyes of an old horse, you seen it now. Hazels looks at us like "I can't believe you are doing this to me". But as she gets petted by like 100 tiny little hands at once, you can tell she kind of settles into it.And she just stands stock still and you can tell she's like "I have to take care not to step on them" and she starts licking on them and nuzzling them and they can pick up her hooves but she puts them down so carefully. Nice old gal Hazels.

See Hazels and me got an understanding going. She looks at me and I look at her and we look at the kids and we say "it ain't the way we imagined it turning out but it sure could be worse".

Boys I must be loosing my touch for time was I was one of the best hunter-trackers in this whole county. Time was and I shit you not, we used to get called up by the sheriffs to go out in the desert and recover dead bodies. 

In truth I used to wear a badge and got into situations I wished I never had and seen stuff that would just make normal people puke.

In training they always tell you the truth is stranger than any fiction and just when you think you seen it all,here comes some whole new level of stupidity. It just blows your mind the fixes people can get themselves into.

Now you might think I'm stupider than sin and if that ain't bad enough I got stupid kids, I got a fat wife and stupid dog. But you ain't seen stupid until you do business with cops and their infinite beaurocracy. Because I've seen looks on the faces of cops about like a mailbox with their mouths hanging open just like dogs.

Hells boys, the day when Chief said "watch me freak these dumb asses out by sitting down on a corpse and eating a cheese-burger" that is exactly what he did.

There was one deputy there, I won't tell you his name but he gots red hair and his name rhymes with "lacey" or "basey". Just run up through the consenants and you will know his name he's still on the force, he's a good man.

But Chief strode right up and sat down on this thing that was as big as a horse and commenced to start eating that cheese burger.

And that was too much for this one fine deputy with red hair and the name that rhymes with "lacey" or "basey" for that pink-faced skin just turned as green as any bottle-fly and he ran off into the bushes. We got a pretty good laugh out of that.

But one thing I should make clear, you do that business and you get kind of cavalier in terms of your sense of humor. But we don't disrespect the dead.

In the case of the infamous cheese-burger incident, we actually knew the guy, his name was Dave and we had to go back and tell his wife what happened. And that is not a job we take money for. All j.okes aside, we went out that day to recover the body of our brother but don't think anybody else's body didn't get the same or better respect.

See to us, Dave was in on the joke and we kind of considered it a good send-off for him to gross out a deputy. Next time we see him, we'll all have a good laugh about that.

By the way boys, I think I let us all down. That story about me finding a sodden wet, miserable, half-starved creature of a pastor under my kitchen table last night was true and I did intend to capture him and surrender him to the authorities but the kids got to petting on him and sombody left the cage open when we went to bed and when we woke up he was gone.

We tried to track him but it rained again last night and we just couldn't pick up his scent.

I'm gonna go ahead and put electronic locks on the kennel and motion detectors so this sure won't happen again. Next time I catch a patriot on the loose they won't get away so easy.

Wells, in terms of style it's not bad, maybe better than my stuff but Feathered Bastard has no ethical foundation and his selection of the movement (and Ernie) for lampooning was entirely predictable. And therefore boring.

What I like is when I lampoon the movement because when I do it's usually somebody who knows me and they are like "why the hell did you just rip me to shreds online" and I can just be like "it is better to be slapped by a friend than kissed by an enemy".

Hey scew you guys, I'm my own greatest fan. With friends like me who needs enemies?

Ernie the "Militia Pimp." hahahaha

Let the vile filthing commence!