I got some e-mails at epjenkins@gmail.com and from the form thingy you can send stuff to me here on the site.

You folks just come right out and ask some wild stuff, man! That’s ok! Bring in on!

Hey Elwood,
Why do you live in a trailer park?

MB
Wichita Falls, Texas

MB in Texas,  I live in a trailer park because it is where my trailer is, and a tornado ain’t hit here yet.  Don’t take a rocket surgeon to figure that one out.

Elwood P,
Have you found your soulmate yet?  Has anyone yet measured up to the greatness that is Elwood P. Jenkins?  Will you marry me?  Will you rub my feet?

Hugs

Lisa P.
Lake Charles, LA

No. No. Maybe. Heck no.

Mr. Jenkins,
My husband thinks you are an ignoramus, but I think you are hilarious! Did you even graduate high school? Are you even for real?

Anne S.
Little Rock, AR

Dear Anne with the terrible husband and a bunch of questions,
Thank you. You tell your slope-headed husband I am a Babdist.  They kicked me out when I got to be the same age as some of the teachers. Of course I am for real, I typed this didn’t I?

Dear Elwood,
We read your posts in our office and it makes our day. We love you! Do you ever do standup?

Tracee, Linda, and Heather
Fayetteville, AR

Dear two chicks with normal names and one with a stripper name,
Thanks. Are you strippers? Asking for a friend. And be sure you tell your boss to not blame me when he catches you goofing off on the job.  I do stand up for one and not for two.

And one that got messaged to me on the Twitters:

You’re a $%^&& *(@@#$ chauvinist $%^&&*

So, you don’t wanna go out? Because, I am sensing a vibe….

I was at the Wal-Mart the other day to get some stink bait and saw something that we have all seen in Wal-Mart.

There was a woman yellin’ at her kids.  No surprise there.  Heck, I am surprised if I go into Wally World and there ain’t some kid getting yelled at.

Wal-Mart is where you are supposed to yell at your kids. It’s like a law or something.  Momma used to load us up when we was kids to drive us to the Wal-Mart in Morrilton to yell at us and give us a whoopin’. Then since she was there, she might get her a soft pack of Marlboros.

But there is more than just parents whippin’ kids butts in Wal-Mart. There is a few types of people that you got a good chance of seein’ at a Wal-Mart no matter where you live.

Now, this is pretty much Wal-Mart only.  It don’t apply to Kroger, Target or especially not a Dillards.  But you might see some of these folks we are gonna discuss in a K-mart, Harp’s, Fred’s or Knight’s and for dang sure in a Dollar General Store.  But, you will almost always see ’em at a Wal-Mart.

Here are some of the people you are likely to see at Wal-Mart:

Ancient Greeter Man – Nope. It ain’t the Crypt Keeper,  but it may be a first cousin.  His job is to welcome you to Wal-Mart and direct you to a buggy.  That buggy has a 80% chance of having a wobbly front wheel.

When ever you go into the store and see this feller, you think this might be the last time you see him breathing.  But, you have been saying that for almost 8-years and he is still there.

Planet Woman and Satellite Man – This here is a real common in Wal-Mart.  She clocks in at least 350 to 400 pounds.  She is wearing either worn cotton shorts that show off a couple of tree trunks for legs or a pair of warm up britches that look like its got a couple of pigs wrasslin’ in the butt-end and a xxxxl Tim McGraw: Indian Outlaw t-shirt from the ’90’s.

Her man is about 119 pounds, wears a faded Molly Hatchet 1981 tour t-shirt and a greasy ballcap that says something snappy like: “Yank My Doodle, It’s A Dandy”.

Satellite Man orbits Planet Woman and is there to do whatever she tells him to do.  If he don’t do what she says, he might get hurt.

These two usually have a bunch of loud, dirty kids with no shoes. And she is usually yelling at all of them for bothering her, but ignores them when they are flying around and kicking people in the knees and cussing out the greeter.

Roadblock Annie – You know that woman who don’t get on one side of the aisle or another?  The one that has to get right in the middle and stops?  That is Roadblock Annie.

She is immune to your stares or to clearing your throat.   She will just keep right on ignoring you.

She is over 65-years old and thinks she don’t have to move for anyone.

I find that I can usually get Roadblock Annie to move by saying someting out loud like, “Man, I bet that one is gonna stink!” or “Excuse me ma’am, do you wanna pet my snake?”

The Jr. League Talkers – Younger first cousins to Roadblock Annie, except they only block your way when they run into each other.

If you are behind one and hear “Oh Staci!  I haven’t seen you in ages! blah-blah-blah-blah….” , you might as well either turn around and go the other way, OR if you wanna have some fun,  just walk up and join in on the conversation.  They will look at one another with their eyebrows raised, but most likely being Junior Leagers, they won’t be rude enough to ask how you know them, they will just assume you know the other one.

Stinky Pete – The guy that just looks like he stinks, and boy does he.  Big bushy beard, dirty pants and shirt with sweat stains.  Dirt everywhere on his exposed skin.

The smell that can only come from the mixture of cheap cigarette smoke, not bathing, not changing clothes for a few weeks. The flies chipped in a bought Stinky Pete a screen door.

The odor coming off Stinky Pete in waves is best described as a ‘funk’.

Don’t get within 25-feet.  The smell of Stinky Pete can knock a buzzard off a gut wagon.

And that is just a few of the folks you will see in Wal-Mart.

If you ladies are feeling lucky and want a shot at being my future ex-wife, you can e-mail me at elwood@elwoodjenkins.com

Later y’all

EPJ

My cousin, Matthew Jenkins, won’t be asking me to take him hunting this year.  He probably never will again.

See, what happened was this. Last November, Matthew came down to Bubba’s Bar with me and Bobby Martinez to shoot some pool.  Well, the subject turns to deer huntin’.  Me and Bobby made the mistake of talking about our hunting plans for next morning in front of Matthew.  Matthew gets all twitchy and excited, “Guys, that is a great idea!  I’ll meet you tomorrow morning!”

You ever been around someone who invites themselves along?  Annoying ain’t it?

Here’s a couple of things about Matthew:

1. He thinks he knows everything ’bout deer huntin’ cuz he reads all these huntin’ magazines and watches all the huntin’ shows on cable and listens to Ted Nugent music.
2. He lives in Little Rock.  He’s all cityfied. He tries to be normal, like me, but just can’t.  He gets his hair done at a salon! Real men go to a barber.
3. He is not the sharpest tool in the shed.

So, Matthew meets me and Bobby the next morning at the Gas -n- Git to load up his gear in my 1981 AMC Pacer that I call The Love Turtle.  While Matthew is putting all his stuff in the car, me and Bobby load up on all our usual deer hunting food. I got a bunch of beef jerky, some chocolate covered peanuts, a couple of Dr. Peppers and a can of vi-eeny sausages.

We got about a 20-mile ride down some dirt roads to our deer stands.  All the way there, Matthew starts goin’ on about how he has washed his hunting clothes in some kinds of stuff that blocks ultraviolet light and how he has some deer urine he will sprinkle on his shoes.  Then Matthew tells us he will not be on a stand, that he will be stalking his deer like Ted Nugent does on TV.  He keeps on and on about how he will look for deer sign and deer rubs and such.

Bobby Martinez asked Matthew, “What is deer sign?”

Matthew tells him, “Deer poop.”

Now that is just dumb. If its deer poop just call it deer poop.  I don’t tell everyone “Hey, better light the candle and get the air freshener, I gotta go ‘sign’.”  But like I said, Matthew is all cityfied and likes to use big words.

So we listen to this stuff for half-hour till we finally get to our deer stands.  I drop Bobby off at his stand and me and Matthew drive down about a half-mile to mine.

Matthew says, “Ok, I am going to look for deer sign over here and stalk my kill”

I say, “Ok, I am going to plant my butt here on this metal folding chair in my ground stand, drink Dr. Pepper and wait for my deer.”

So, off he goes.  About a half-hour later, I see Matthew ‘stalking’ and looking for ‘deer sign’.  I thought stalking meant you walked real quiet, but he sounded like a heifer with a clubhoof out there.  Apparently, he ain’t found no sign.

Then, I reached for my chocolate covered peanuts and got a real funny idea.

Don’t get grossed out. This is really chocolate covered peanuts.

I walked about 30-yards into the woods behind my stand and poured the whole box of chocolate covered peanuts on the ground.

I waited until Matthew stalked close by and whispered, “Hey! Matthew! Deer sign!”

So anyhow, Matthew comes over, looks at them and says, “Hmmmm”

Then he looks at the pile of ‘sign’ a little more and says, “Ahhhhh.  Yes. This deer was just here a moment ago and looks to be traveling West-Northwest at leisurely pace.”

I then look down at the pile of ‘sign’ and say, “Ahhhh. Yes. I agree Matthew.”  Then I reach down and pick up three of the pieces of ‘sign’ and put them in the palm of my hand.  I take one and roll it around between my thumb and finger and say, “Yup.  Hmmm.  Yup.”

Then I pop the ‘sign’ in my mouth and roll it around.  Matthew’s jaw hits his belt-buckle and his eyes are bugged out really far.

I look right at Matthew and say, “Matthew, I think this was a buck.”

I pop another in my mouth, wait a second and say, “Yup, definitely a buck….eight pointer..no…seven pointer. He broke off a piece of antler about…oh…an hour ago in a fight with a…ten pointer”

Matthew starts making a real funny high-pitched sound in his throat and shaking really bad.

I pop the third piece in my mouth and say, “Hmmm. Acorns”

Right after I said “Acorns” , Matthew yacked up everything he had for breakfast since last week.  Then he passed out.

After he wakes up, we all load up in the Love Turtle and drive off.

He was really quiet, which was nice. Really nice.

Nope, we won’t have to take him hunting again. You know, to this day he can’t even look at a chocolate covered peanut or listen to Ted Nugent.

Louise Carpwaller came back into town after our little dust-up in Key West a while back. She got bent out of shape and was chasing me down Duval Street with a steak knife.

It was a deal breaker for me.

Louise is a category six on the bunny boiler scale.  If you don’t know what that means, dust off your copy of Fatal Attraction and watch it again.  In Fatal Attraction, Glenn Close plays this chick who spends one night doing stuff with Michael Douglas, but he is married to Anne Archer. Glenn Close is actually as crazy as Mel Gipson on mescaline and feels like she got done wrong by Michael Douglas. So, she decides to try to get his attention with various hijinks, including boiling Michael Douglas and Anne Archer’s little girl’s pet bunny.  And that is where you get the phrase “Bunny Boiler”. It is a very educational film. Every man should watch it.

Anyway, Louise Carpwaller makes that Glenn Close’s crazy chick look like Maria from The Sound of Music.  Clingy. Just a little bit.

Anywho,  I think a caught a break in that department, because I think Louise done got herself a new victim. She came into the Panky Lube & Tire Emporium while I was balancing out a new set of tires. Louise had this look on her face like she had done won $20 in scratch off cards. You got to be careful when talking with Louise, she could start an argument in an empty house.

She took a deep breath and said, “Elwood, I am seeing someone else.”

“Louise, I need to know who that someone else is.”

“Now Elwood, you don’t need to go start a fight. It’s over between us.”, she said, with just a bit of excited glee in her crazy little eye.

I looked at Louise, and in my most serious and sincere tone said, “Darlin’, I don’t want to beat anyone up.  I want to know who to send the 30 pack of beer and the condolence card to.”

You know, getting hit with a tire iron hurts.  That woman is crazy as a cat in a burlap bag.

That is what leads me to this list. My personal code if you will.

Elwood Jenkins List of Women To Avoid:

1.       Married women.  Guns don’t kill people. Husbands who get home early kill people. Plus, if you root around with some married chick, don’t be surprised when you get home early one day and find her with another man. Or the local vo-tech school’s basketball team. Including the mascot and towel boy. All at the same time.

“I went on Google Earth today. Whose car was that in your driveway June 6, 2008?”

2.       Crazy chicks.
This can be difficult to avoid. Sometimes a woman will look and act completely normal.  This is a trap.  Then one day you get home and she has burned all your high school yearbooks because of something a girl wrote in it 20 years ago. All phone calls will be screened and if you even make eye contact with another woman, you are fooling around on her. Hello Louise Carpwaller, are you reading this you psycho?

3.       Younger women. You might be saying, “Elwood, what the heck!? Younger women are pretty and hot and all put together nice!”  Yes they are, and so you need to ask yourself why would they be hanging around your old, tired butt?  Either you got money, or they got issues.  Let me give you my take on younger women. They are a lot like a fancy sports car. Fun to look at with some really nice curves, but if you plan on driving one for any length of time, it’s probably gonna cost you alot and you are gonna find that it ain’t worth the headache to maintain it. Stick with a good solid American ride.

4.        Vegan hippy chicks. They will try to convert you to living on a diet of beans, tofu and brown rice. You will be sneaking through fast food joints at 11 p.m. at night trying to scarf down a triple cheeseburger. And make sure you get rid of the wrappers and bags if you don’t want a lecture of how “Meat is murder” or how you are responsible for greenhouse gasses.  That brings me to another reason to avoid these chicks. Because of their diet, vegetarians emit more noxious, ozone and nostril hair destroying gasses than the tailpipe of a 1978 Olds Cutlass.

5.       The Man-hater. All men are dogs. All men cheat. All men ruined her life.  Run. Run real far, real fast. He done her wrong, but YOU are gonna pay for it.

If any of you folks want to ask about relationship advice, I will act like I care and maybe answer you on this here website. Go HERE and ask away.

So this chick named Wendy starts sending me e-mails every few days.  At first, I though she was a stalker, and after Louise Carpwaller a man can’t be too careful.  But, it was a woman offering me a job!  All her e-mails had these job schedules attached to them.

Now my nephew Eugene tried to tell me that it was a mistake and that she just put my email address in for some guy name Eric Jenkins and it was all a big snafu.  Plus, he said it was from Australia, and that it didn’t make no sense that she would be trying to recruit me.

After putting Eugene into a Figure Four wrasslin’ hold, I calmly explained that I am a highly sought after Internet celebrity and that she is a woman. And women always find me irresistible.

This is the e-mail I sent back to her:

Dear Wendy,

Hi. My name is Elwood Peterbilt Jenkins from Perry County in Arkansas.

I notice you keep sending me these work schedules attached to emails.  I thought, “Hey, make a little money on the side!”  See my 1981 AMC Pacer that I call the Love Turtle, needs new shocks, a pair of those fuzzy dice you hang from the rear-view mirror and some naked girl chrome thingys to put on the rear mudflaps. So, I was pleased as punch to see you were just gonna give me a job.  I am not surprised, I am a stunningly handsome man who owns his own mobile home and writes his own blog at elwoodjenkins.com.  The attraction is easy to see.

​

Then, I saw that you folks are in Australia.  I am sorry Wendy that that commute is just too much for me.  I wouldn’t make it back in time to watch wrasslin’ on TV and college football season fires up this weekend.

Thank the rest of Australia for Nichole Kidman, Isla Fisher and Hugh Jackman when he plays Wolverine.  And for Mel Gipson before he went nuts and most of AC/DC.

I’m still pissed about The Wiggles.  They creep me out.

Thanks for the job offer!

Your Friend,

Elwood P. Jenkins

P.S. -Read my blog and tell all your friends down there about it at elwoodjenkins.com. I am on Facebook and Twitter too.

P.S.S – Do y’all have a problem with kangaroos jumpin’ out in front of your vehicles like we have with whitetail deer?

P.S.S.S – Are kangaroos good eatin’? Whitetail deer are.

This is my pondering great things, philosophical pose.

Out here close to and around the trailer park, we got lots of churches you can go to.

You got your Pentecostals, Assembly of God (Pentecostals that let their women doll-up), Church of Christ, a few Methodists to keep ’em honest, and one or two Catholic churches.

We also have a boat-load of Babdist churches. Now, this is confusing because Babdists spell their name just like the Baptists do.  Kinda like how we say Arkansas like we do instead of  how the heathens in Kansas say it.

(Ok, just a little note for you Kansas people.  You can say Arkansas anyway you want in your state, but saying ‘AR-Kansas’ here is grounds for you to get the bejabbers beat right out of you. I ain’t trying to threaten, I am trying to help.)

Ok, back to spiritual matters.

Like I was saying, Babdists spell their name B-A-P-T-I-S-T, and Baptists spell their name B-A-P-T-I-S-T.

Theologically, both Babdists and Baptists agree on on the big stuff. They both dunk instead of sprinkle and they both have a piano. It’s like state law that Babdist and Baptist both have to have a piano.  Rich Babdists and all Baptist places have pianos AND an organ. (I have suspected for a while now that Church of Christ folks started out as really poor, hardshell Freewill Babdists who couldn’t afford a piano)

Here is a list of some of the differences between Babdists and Baptists:

Baptists have full time pastors that are at the church all week long.  They also have full time song leaders and full time youth pastors.
Babdists have a preacher that works during the week at a full time job and preaches on Wednesdays and Sundays.  The song leader is the best singer in the church who also has a wife that can play piano. The kids sit in the main service with their parents.

Baptist youth leaders spend the whole year planning weekly events and activities for the youth in the church. They have activities in the family life center.
Babdist churches send their kids off to church camp once a year and play games in the church parking lot.

Babdists have two official alter call songs. They are “Just As I Am” and “I Surrender All” and they sing one of those songs each week. No exceptions.
Baptists might go a half year without doing those songs.  Skipping doing those songs  for a month in a Babdist church will get the song leader fired at the next Wednesday night business meeting.

Babdists don’t sing anything that ain’t in the hymnal. The youth sing contemporary stuff on Wednesday nights.
Baptists  have a full time minister of music who will lead the congregation in some choruses.

Babdists still have the potluck every month.  The best food ever is at a Babdist potluck.  Once again, I bet state law dictates that fried chicken will be served at a Babdist potluck.
Baptists don’t do potlucks much anymore.

Both Baptists and Babdists do not ever wave to each other in the liquor store.

For the most part, Baptist churches are in the city and Babdist churches are in the country but you can’t tell for sure until you go inside.  If most people are showing up in pick-up trucks you are most likely among Babdists.  If you see a bunch of SUV’s and minivans in the parking lot, you are probably among Baptists.

Of course the easiest way tell is to ask the people coming out the door which they are.  They’ll tell you.

Warning. This here blog will have opinions that could split friends and families.  And if you disagree with me, I really don’t give a fat baby’s elbow. But, you have every right to your own opinion. No matter how misguided and wrong you may be.

We got this lady in the trailer park named Mrs. Noodleman. She is better known as the “Crazy Cat Lady” and she always smells like old litterbox and catfood. Her husband left a long time ago. Probably got tired of cat poop in his loafers.

This woman has got no less than about 15  22 stinkin’, bawlin’, poop in the neighbor’s flower beds and walk on my freshly waxed car, cats.

Let me go ahead and state that I don’t particularly have anything against cats. But, in my opinion if a cat ain’t catchin’ mice or rats, there ain’t no reason to have one.

All Crazy Cat Lady’s cats do is make lots of noises when I am trying to sleep and make new cats to make more noise.  Did I mention she don’t get any of them fixed?  And once you go beyond 3 cats, you should be considered a rancher.

I am a dog type of person.  That is why my coon dog Scooter is my bestest friend.

I realize that many of you folks have cats, and that’s fine. Good for you.  But they are plotting your death. You need to know that.

“But, Mr. Mephistopheles loves me”  No. He don’t. You’re his food source and mobile back scratcher. He tolerates you while plotting. Always plotting.

Here are my 11 reasons that Dogs beat the heck out of cats:

1. Ever see a movie or a television show about a brave cat saving a boy in a well? I think not.
2. Dogs look much better at the end of a leash.  Here is a perfect reason to NEVER put a cat on a leash: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ubQxtEukvw
3. Dogs will let you give them a bath without taking out a contract on your life.
4. Dogs will bark to wake you up if the trailer is on fire. Cats will quietly sneak out the back door and giggle while they do it.
5. You can train a dog to fetch you a beer. Cats might bring you a dead mouse and then they will leave it in your shoe.
6. Dogs scratch themselves…cats scratch other people.
7. Dogs will sit on the car seat next to you. Cats have to have their own private box. Most cats in a moving vehicle are like furry, clawed, tornadoes.
8. Dogs will greet you & lick your face when you come home from work. Cats leave you a hairball behind the couch.
9. If Dogs don’t like you, they let you know early on…cats wait till your within striking distance.
10. Dogs will tilt their heads and listen whenever you talk. Cats will yawn and close their eyes.
11. Dogs will give you unconditional love forever. Cats will make you pay for every mistake you’ve ever made since the day you were born.

And if any of you cat people are really PO’d at me, just take minute and realize that deep down…. I really don’t care.

Send marriage proposals and redneck pictures to epjenkins@gmail.com. But any ticked off cat folks out there can send your emails with death threats and insults to josh.duggar@ohcrapireallyscrewed.up

Oh and howdy to Jenna who sent an email said she likes to read this blog each week at work and share with friends.  Hope your boss don’t catch you.

Later folks

Elwood

Lute Fenwick’s Ex.

There are ugly women out there and they need to be told they are ugly.

I know that is not exactly something that is popular to say these days when you are supposed to think about people’s feelings and all, but I can’t be silent any more.

I get in trouble for telling the truth sometimes.  I once pointed out that a woman was ugly in a group of folks, and some ugly woman got mad and called me a “Massage-O-Nist”.  It was kind of weird that she tried to insult me by saying I am a masseur (that’s Frenchy talk for guy that massages folks).  I told her that I have been known to give a good back-rub, but I am not any sort of specialist or anything. I thanked her and she looked confused, or maybe she always looked like that. I dunno, it was hard to tell because she was ugly.

You may be saying, “But Elwood, external beauty is only skin deep.”  That is very true, and ugly goes to the bone.  If you ain’t even got a skin’s worth of beauty, you might need to work on your social skills or learn to cook really good.

You ever been out with your buddies and see an ugly women who acts like she is pretty?  She’ll toss that hair like she’s in a shampoo commercial and strut around like she just won the local beauty pageant. It’s heartbreaking really.

I blame the ugly women’s friends.

All you ugly gals, I have been watching how your friends treat you. Your friends are lying to you.  They tell you, “Oh , darlin’ you are so cute! I would just kill for your eyes!”  They might kill for your eyes, but they wouldn’t touch your face with someone else’s hand.  Or they might say, “You have such a great personality, and someday the right man is going to see you and carry you away.” What they mean is “It’s a good thing you’re nice, maybe some blind guy is going to come along someday, and let’s hope he has a strong back.”

You ugly woman, might be asking yourself, “Why would my friends lie to me?” Because you make your friends look good. You might not want a bologna sandwich, but put some dirt on cracker next to it, and that bologna sandwich looks pretty good. You take an average looking chick and pair her up with an ugly friend, and that average chick looks a whole lost closer to Kate Upton than before.

There are levels of looks. In almost any group of women going out on the town you will have the following levels of looks, plus or minus a few degrees:

1. Good lookin’ – the really pretty ones that never want to dance or give you a working phone number
2. Kinda cute – Okay after a few beers or it is close to closing time and the Good lookin’ ones turned you down.
3. Ugly – A gorilla in a halter top is asking me to dance

It’s the good lookin’ women who set all this up.  Blame them. I’m just breaking the bad news. Ugly women, your friends are using you.

I realize I am opening myself up to all you pretty and cute girls getting mad at me for spilling the beans. Tough, you should have danced with me when I asked.

And no, it ain’t the same for ugly men. Ugly men have it better. Even a really ugly man can land at least an average woman.

I know, it ain’t fair ladies. If I was y’all, I would be mad at Christie Brinkley for starting all this when she married Billy Joel.

Or for you youngsters out there who don’t know who Billy Joel is, blame Katy Perry and Travis McCoy.

Yes, this really happened. Either she lost a bet, or he signed his soul away to the devil.

So ugly women, take heart. Somewhere out there is a guy who might be willing to lower his standards, or just flat chunk ’em out the window. I hear Lute Fenwick is looking again.

Dear Ronda Rousey,

You and me need to get married.

I have been looking for a woman who can kick butt like you for a long, long time.  Truth is, some of my ex-wives are kind of scary, but none of them are as scary as you are.  And if you can knock out a crazy Brazillian chick in under a minute, Louise Carpwaller ain’t got a snowball’s chance in Rio against you.

Some of my qualifications for being a husband are listed here, but I added some to the list just for you:

• You like to fight, so I will take you down to Bubba’s on a Saturday night and you can fight all you want. I can be your promoter for almost free. Louse Carpwaller hangs out there and I heard her talking smack about you. I ain’t kidding.
• I like long walks on the beach and opening cans of whoop-butt.
• I am contented to stay in the background and not hog all the glory for only 20% of your gross earnings.
• When it’s dark and you are drunk and if you squint a little, I look like Bradley Cooper.
• I think Floyd Mayweather is a chump too.  Don’t tell him I said that.

You can shoot me an e-mail or hit me up on Twitter darlin’.

Your next husband,

Elwood Peterbilt Jenkins

Me, Bobby Martinez, and Lute Fenwick were all sitting in Bubba’s the other night arguing about who would win in a race: The Flash or Speedy Gonzales.

I say The Flash would win because he has a longer stride. I mean, it’s just common sense.

Then the topic turned to more pressing matters.  It was time to see if we were gonna be in the local charity golf tournament again.

The tournament is gonna be at Bert’s Golf Course and Salvage Yard out on County Road 46.

Bert has the only full size golf course/salvage yard in the whole USA.  You can shoot 18 holes and get a transmission for a ’75 Pontiac Gran Prix all at the same place.

My favorite hole at Bert’s Golf Course and Salvage Yard is number 4. It is a par 5 that has a water hazard/stock/catfish pond to clear then dog-legs to the right. Once you get around the dog-leg, you have to shoot it over a big pile of Jeep parts to get to the green. Let’s see Tiger Woods get par on that one.

Plus, Bert keeps a herd of Angus cattle out on the course, so there are other hazards as well. Don’t wear any fancy golf shoes on Bert’s course.

Anyhow, the tournament is the annual Scramble For Unwed Mothers.  We have a tee shirt made up for the event.  It says:

“2015 Scramble For Unwed Mothers: Let’s All Help The Moms & The Little ***Word Censored By The High-Sheriff’s Of Content***”.

Lute came up with this years slogan. I tell you man, it will bring a tear to your eye.

Anyhow, while we were talking about the golf tournament, Bobby started shaking and crying.

Man, we had forgot about Bobby’s nightmare experience while golfing with his wife a few years ago.  It was so terrible, that Bobby can’t even look at a golf ball without going into the fetal position and wetting his pants half the time.  It is a dang shame too, because Bobby was one heck of a golfer back in the day.

Heck, the incident put Bobby in the hospital for a week.  He came in all beat up with a concussion, all bruised up, and a 5-iron wrapped around his neck.

What happened was, Bobby took his wife Roweena out to golf at Bert’s.

Roweena had never been golfing before, so Bobby was teaching her all about the game.  He even put Roweena’s initials on her golf ball.

This is how Bobby told it to us later:

“Well, I was having a round of golf with my wife over at Bert’s, when at that real hard number 4 hole, we both sliced our balls into a herd of Angus cattle.

We went to look for them golf balls and while I was looking around, I noticed one of the cows had something white stuck in its rear-end.”

“I walked over, lifted its tail, and sure enough, there was a golf ball with my wife’s initials on it stuck right in the cow’s backside.”

“I was still holding the cow’s tail up when I yelled to Roweena, ‘Hey, this looks like yours!'”

“I don’t remember much after that…”

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EPJ