Doom Death Destruction and Other Fun Stuff

I have sat on my blog butt and contemplated the lint in my virtual bellybutton instead of writing for the last few days and that is more than long enough. It seems like weeks already but it has only been a short time since I posted my critically acclaimed and highly circulated "Don't Throw The Tail Away That's Good Eatin'!". I refuse to bask in the daily flood of fan mail and cannot afford to sit on my laurels. Hmmm, actually sitting on my laurels sounds sort of painful as my laurels are fairly sensitive and quite possibly one of my erogenous zones. Oh, um, yes, as I was saying, I will not continue my self-imposed mini-hiatus from Bonez and vow to break the lag between posts today with this erratic and esoteric item for your blog consumption. Bon Appétit.

R.I.P. Yvette Vickers, former Playboy bunny (1959) and SciFi B-Movie Queen.

I know that Mr. Camping is totally wrong on his hysterical predictions of the end of the world because I am going on a long motorcycle ride with friends in Kentucky the weekend after. It's sort of like knowing it is going to rain if you wash your car. Know what I mean? It's quantum mechanics or something or other like where the heck do those missing socks and g-strings go when they disappear out of the dryer? It's frakking bewildering, isn't it? I just know that these poor evangelical fundamentalist doomsayers are going to be spending that weekend hiding from the press and recanting their predictions because of some "new" biblical evidence that was found on May 22nd. Sheesh. Hey, this is not the first time these sort of party poopers have done this and worked themselves up in a lather over bizarre biblical interpretation. I say let them interpret to their hearts' desire. That's their right and I will defend it to the death but don't go telling me about how scary and mean and vengeful their loving God is who will only save a few hundred thousand lucky souls while the rest of the 6.5 billion people cook on the slow roasting spit of eternal hellfire and unimaginable torment. Yeah. Wow, now isn't just like a God of Love for you? So damn fickle to say the least. Love ya one minute and burn ya the next. These are the same folks that probably think it was cool that God struck Japan with the earthquakes and tsunamis .... and are excited about all the death and destruction God is going to exact on America (according to them) ... wow, sounds more like they are praising their boogie man, Satan, and not their "amazing loving God of mercy".

Don't Throw The Tail Away That's Good Eatin'!

I really like fishing. I have fished most of my life but not nearly as much as I would have liked to. In fact, I've rarely fished the last seventeen years or so after becoming domesticated and all citified. Or as some of my friends like to say, emotionally castrated and metro-sexualized beyond recognition. The lone exception is probably when my son, Tay and I went up to a friend's boat in Kentucky and brought back an ice chest full of catfish fillets we caught on yo-yos ... about fifteen pounds or more worth of mostly blue channel cats and man oh man them was some good eatin' (trying to mimic Heather's accent). I like all sorts of fishing. Bass fishing, Trotline, jug and yoyo fishing, Surf fishing, river fishing, lake fishing, and ocean fishing. Add to that crabbing, catching crawdads/crayfish/crawfish (mudbugs as some would call them) and you start to get the picture that I do indeed like catching and eating water critters. Don't even get me started on my secret superpower of consuming vast quantities of raw fish on sushi to the point that Al Gore has personally begged me to slow down and not drive certain dwindling oceanic species to extinction. I never thought I would see an ex-Almost President (damn Illuminati rigged elections) with tears in his eyes saying, "Leave some for the rest of us, please Mister Bonez." What can I say, I'm a sucker when someone cries and I do love my Country (proud U.S. Military Veteran that I am), so I voluntarily ratcheted down my raw fish consumption to a sub-extinction inducing intake. For now... I'm kidding, Al! Damn, Dude, stop crying like a little girl! Speaking of the fairer sex ... women, girls, females, etc. etc. etc. The only thing that would make fishing any better would be to share it with a sexy lady who sincerely enjoys it as much as I do. Yes, you can be a Lady and sexy and fishing all at the very same time. Hot women have been fishing with their men for thousands of years so why do they seem to be so rare today? I know there are still prominent seats of learning catering to the education of lovely lasses in the fine arts of fishing and care of delicate lingerie in the wilds. Attendance is obviously down, though, as those hallowed halls were once filled to capacity with eager women learning how to not tear their stockings while crawling through the brush without breaking a nail while taking that big one off the trotline with one hand as they pop the top on an ice cold beer for their man with the other. Sigh. Back when men were men and all women were sexy calendar pinup girls pretending to be dainty and helpless as they teased their men 24x7 with hints of seductive pleasures to come all the while diligently, tirelessly and happily cooking, cleaning, fishing, gutting fish, hunting, gutting deer, making soap, beating rugs and doing yard work in the skimpiest of lingerie and tallest of high heels. Sigh. Those were the days, indeed, Dear Bonez Reader. But I do not think it is asking too much for some women to seriously consider moving back to the old ways when all women were much more fulfilled and happy with their God-Given roles in Life. Come on Ladies, step up to the plate of real womanhood and slip into some comfortable sexy waders, grab your pole and let's get our fishin' on! BTW, Miss Heather has a lot of cute Southern and Louisiana things she says, but I was a bit stunned to hear that she was such a huge Bonez fan. When she looked right into the camera and said, "All this right here is Bonez ... Bonez", I knew immediately that God had indeed created the perfect woman. Thank you, Miss Heather. Got any Sisters?

I Heart Me Some Superslab Gators and Misty Dawns

I loves me some gator on hot superslab for breakfast lunch or dinner. My Harley powers down the highway like a predatory beast chewin up the miles with no fear of them sinister gators and their unruly hides barrin our path. Gators come in all shapes and sizes and even the smallest of them can give you an instant laundry problem in your tidy whities ... or a quick trip to the hospital or the morgue for those less fortunate to tangle with one unexpectedly. My Harley shows no sign of backin down when she spies one of the ornery critters laying all innocent like on the concrete roadway and it is up to me to reign her in and put a little heel to her to steer her head around the rubbery monster she really shouldn’t mess with. She seems to forget that night a few months back when we were plowin through the night at seventy-five or eighty on that Kentucky superslab with Captain Hawkeye when that big ass gator snuck up on us out of the blackness and nearly swallowed us whole. I know I about shit my britches and screamed like a girl as my pelvis was rammed up through my rib cage and my sweetheart Harley bucked like a crazy mare who’d seen a rattlesnake. We come through it all right but I have the emotional scars and still wake up from nightmares to that girlie scream and sweatin like a pig. Now I know them gators move around at night and bein all nocturnal and all and not just lazin around sleeping on the hot superslab in the day time. My dear Super Glide Custom has a tendency to quickly forget and she recons that she got through that one all right so what’s to worry about running up on another one. I love her but she can be so damn hard headed at times when it comes to cutting her own path down the highway.


No, I am not talkin about THAT kind of gator ...
I'm talkin about THIS kind of gator ... a frakkin Road Gator!


A friend of mine used to hunt superslab gators on his bike. But he rode a rice burner ... er ... metric cruiser with a Japanese name. He didn’t much care about basic maintenance and such on his bike and he was pretty fearless ... translate “fearless” as ignorant as hell ... and he bragged about killin gators with his iron (aluminum and plastic) steed and made a game of gator jumpin like he was one of them Jack*Ass movie stars or somethin. Well, one day he called me and was actin all giddy like and shoutin into the phone about tryin to jump the biggest dang gator he’d ever laid eyes on and it about killed him and how he totaled his P.O.S. Japanese named bike but he still killed the beast and how the insurance man was goin to give him a ton-o-money and he was goin to get himself a real man’s bike like mine and he, in fact, had made so much money by wrecking his bike and killing that gator that he was going to get himself a custom made one of a kind chopper-iffic motorcycle babe-magnet make your Momma cry bike to end all biker wet dreams from here on in. Yeah, he talked all funny like that for real.

I didn’t hear from my friend for a couple of months and then I got an e-mail from him with this picture attached ...


Now you can probably guess at my amazement that he indeed done gone and built himself a custom made one of a kind chopper-iffic motorcycle babe-magnet make your Momma cry bike to end all biker wet dreams from here on in real man’s bike. But I was not so convinced that it was really the alleged motorcycle babe magnet he had dreamed it would be and I told him so. A couple days later he sent me another email with THIS picture attached.


Yep, I loves me some superslab gators, but I ain’t got the kahunas to do what my buddy did ... even for another Misty Dawn potential out there. Which is probably for the best as I don’t think there’s enough room in this world for another superslab gator bike ... or another Misty Dawn :)

Heather's Outdoor Kitchen - Cleaning and Cooking Panfish

Heather LaCroix shows everyone how to catch, clean, and Cook panfish. This video starts out with Heather catching some bream and crappie (White Perch) on her 28' pontoon boat. Then she takes them home and shows you how to scale, head, and gut them. Once they are cleaned she shows you her favorite way to cook them. That would be to coat them with cornmeal and deep fry them. She also shows off her pet rooster (Gumbo) and her cat (Big Boy). But the best part is, she shows you the best way to eat panfish by teaching you to peel them so you don't have to worry about the bones.

Remember, Don't Throw the Tail Away ~ That's Good Eatin'!

Cajun Wife Cooks Crawfish

A Real Woman - Heather LaCroix

Redneck Waffle House Wedding

I get so tired of the redneck trailer park trash of the South defining the worldview of what Southerners are supposed to be like. I understand that I am perpetuating that very same negative image by posting this video on Bonez. However, the Waffle House wedding succinctly portrays the very thing I am bitching about. Embarrassingly, right down the ignorant son-of-a-buck going to his matrimonial death being named "Bubba".

Let me clue you in... Most Southern women are not Belles. Neither are they cigarette smoking incest victims, barefoot obese heifers, snaggle-toothed meth addicted unwed mothers, fashion-challenged potato sack wearing diva wannabes, idiotic sixth grade educated baby-making machines. Most Southern women are nothing like that at all.

Most Southern men are not genteel-men. Neither are they gosh darn knee-slapping rednecks, tobacco chewing clods in overalls, cigarette smoking inbred banjo pickers, beer drinking deer hunters and bass fishermen, mullet-haired truck driving Nascar fans, uncouth morons picking their noses and scratching their balls and asses in public. Most Southern men are nothing like that at all.

Know what I mean, Vern?