Local Wife Gives Hapless Husband Palouse-Sized 'Verbal Smack Down'!

In a matrimonial tussle that had every male within 30 miles cringing in stunned horror, a local housewife, Mabel Snopes, age 33, pretty much 'laid the lumber' on her hapless and obviously un-battle-worthy husband, Festus Snopes III, age 35, an area farmer/rancher, after the offending Festus, having blatantly ignored several supposedly clear warnings, not only lacked due diligence in taking out the garbage, but even failed to accomplish a precursor to that task - something vaguely referred to as "getting up off of his dead rear-end!!', insiders report. Festus, well known across the Palouse as 'less than a self-starter', has a long history of getting 'taken to the woodshed' by his loving yet obviously not conflict-averse wife - but this drastic step normally only happens after the wife's 2nd reasonable request is either not acknowledged at all, or Festus demonstrates behavior that can be deemed by reasonable third parties as either active or passive resistance of any kind.

"Oh, it was horrible!" said Buster Bodine, 53, an area farmer/rancher. "I mean, the poor guy had finally got comfortable on the couch after several hours of trying to find just the right spot, and in sweeps that Mabel acting all 'Queen Elizabeth' or whatever, ordering him to do this thing and that thing. Sadly, the weather has been warm and their windows were open so me and, more importantly, the doggone wife could hear the whole thing, and I could not help but think that this was setting a bad precedent for matrimonial harmony across all of Northwest Whitman County!" he said sadly, fearfully looking over his shoulder to make sure his wife was not listening. "As the battle began in earnest and before Festus was reduced to a pathetic, blathering, stuttering idiot by his wife's truly terrifying and somewhat well-reasoned onslaught, I could not help but attempt to send him desperate mental telepathy messages with such potential gems as "Hey Mabel, are your legs broken?" and/or "Hey sweetie, I bring home the bacon, the least you can do is take out the trash!" (Editorial Note: In fact, Mabel actually makes more money than her husband, although she would deny this fact if asked directly!). Anyway, all Festus could manage were a few incoherent sentence fragments (spoken in a high, squeaky voice, no less!) and some ineffectual arm waving - but the battle was over just about as soon as it started. Oh, it was so disappointing!" he said sadly. "And my wife has been giving me the 'stink eye' ever since, as if she is just challenging me to step out of line in even the smallest way! That darn Festus! His crushing defeat places every husband in imminent peril for miles around, doggone it!" he bellowed quietly so as not to draw attention from his eagle-eared wife of 23 years.

Shockingly Modest, Humble, Unassuming Town of Lamont More Than A Tad 'Taken Aback' By Great Looking New Fire Station Paint Job

In a stunning display of uncharacteristic bravado and panache, the painfully subdued and obviously color adverse 2nd smallest Town in the State went 'hog wild' (some would say 'plum crazy'!) and actually painted their decades old fire station (which was shocking enough - given that it was just exposed concrete block for at least the last 5 decades or so!) (and what the heck is wrong with that?) - and, against all local common wisdom, they also chose colors outside of the drab, boring, earthy yet obviously well loved 'Lamont color wheel' that has seemed to govern municipal decision-making for the last 100 years or so - assuming the lazy beggers ever got off of their somewhat padded duffs and managed to paint anything at all! (Why paint in the first place when you will just have to paint again later? That don't make no sense!) The now spunky and electrifying fire station, rumored to be visible with the naked eye from the Space Shuttle, is situated in the vastly improved Town Park and has been a decidedly depressing mixture of miscellaneous water stains and rust streaks for as long as anyone can remember. (And your point is?) "Whoa! What in dern tarnation did they go and do now?" bellowed Festus Festoon, 56, an area farmer/rancher. "I ain't seen that much color since the wife somehow accidentally fell into that strategically located poison ivy and stinging nettle patch (or was she indeed pushed as she now claims?) the one and only time I could ever talk the dern woman into taking a romantic late night honeymoon swim with me! Whoa, that woman swelled up like a smoked sausage - and them colors she displayed just weren't natural for no human being, at least none I ever heard tale of!" he said unsympathetically, fondly reminiscing those happier days! "Dang! Now every time I look at that dern building I am going to have to agonize over why I ever married that contrary and mean-spirited woman in the first place! (Blame the beer, you fool!) Thanks loads, Lamont! You really know how to hurt a guy, don't you?" he shuddered.

"Well, I was driving down 8th street peering into everyone's backyard to see what the heck was really going on around here, trying to mind my own business like I always do, when all of a sudden my optic nerve became totally discombobulated and I dang near drove right into the ditch!" said Erma Bodine, 62, an area farm wife/outrageous snoop/unbelievable busybody. "In the good old days when you thought about Lamont, you would think of weather beaten decay and a general lack of interest in maintenance of any kind! There is something soothing about seeing buildings and such decay at the same rate (or faster!) than you do! (Whoa! Now that is fast decay!) Letting things go untended was the Lamont way, but all of a sudden that dern Council got all caught up in some fit of cleaning up and painting and all of that - and they are darn near ruining the doggone place! Before this latest episode of madness, I could always congratulate myself because my ugly, weather-beaten house always looked a little bit better than the shockingly neglected and poorly maintained Town buildings - but now they are going to make me look bad! Talk about a stupid use of tax dollars, for Pete's sake! If I wasn't a convicted felon, I would try to vote them out of office the next time one of them fancy elections or whatever comes around. Now I have no choice but to attempt the impossible and pressure my good-for-nothing husband to stop making all of those unfortunate noises and get up off the dangerously sagging couch and do something about the way our place looks! Like I can see that happening! NOT! That doggone Town has gone too far this time! They are about to get a piece of my mind, I tell you!" said the enraged matron who really doesn't have that much 'mind' to spare, if one were to be honest!

For the record, a vast majority of the citizenry seems more than a little pleased with the bold 'color statement' that is, in fact, indicative of Lamont's somewhat reluctant entry into the 19th century and have taken to this drastic change with surprising openness and acceptance (for Lamont, that is!). Given this tentative success, the Town's governing body will, more than likely, continue to enhance the appearance of the Town with actual color - although details are still undetermined - but it is safe to assume that brown, gray and 'that color of dead grass' seem to be off of the selection criteria for the first time, thank goodness! (This troubling pro-color trend actually started when Lamont, quite uncharacteristically, designed an official 'town logo' that brazenly used those avant garde (and Commie-loving!) colors green and yellow, (oh, you should have heard the fire storm over that one!) and like the proverbial camel's nose getting under the tent flap, the doggone Town has amazingly proceeded to introduce color into just about everything they do now - in spite of a continual low-level backlash against anything new - especially things that don't now look 60+ neglectful years old like they should.)

Miracle On Spokane Street! Area Flowers Somehow Avoid Lawnmower For 2nd Straight Year!

In a bold move that gives added credence (like we needed it!) to the Lord's active hand in the affairs of all living things, an area tulip plant or bush or whatever the heck they are somehow managed to produce their once-a-year flowers 2 years in a row in spite of the fact that the owner of the property where they unfortunately reside is, by all accounts, 'lawnmower happy' and enjoys nothing more than making everything in his yard exactly the same height, regardless of its potential to bring enjoyment into the largely color-starved 2nd smallest Town in the State. (no wonder his gardens are such chronic failures!) The tulips, sporting a somewhat rare purple hue (for Lamont, anyway!), are nestled between the deck (that needs painting - and not brown or gray, either!) and some big tree that is either an elm or an oak or something and, so situated, escaped detection and thus destruction several years running - thus proving to be no small source of frustration and angst to the current property owner, Elmer Bodine, 56, an area farmer/rancher who has some weird obsession with things of differing heights.

"What the....! Dang it all! When will this madness stop? Go fetch me that dadburn lawnmower, Thelma! And hurry!!!" bellowed the suddenly energized Elmer after finally spotting the offending flora while venturing into the backyard to pick up a quite extensive array of 'doggy-doo". "Seems like every time I turn around some doggone plant is trying to disrupt my artificially construed and shockingly anal-retentive environment! I'll fix his dadburn wagon, for Pete's sake!" he fumed while wondering what in tarnation was taking his wife, Thelma, age 53, so dern long to 'snap to'!! (His daddy never had that problem with momma, bless her heart!) "I am a man that believes in immediate action, dadburn it! If I were to let those doggone flowers linger here, next thing you know every stinking weed and bush in Town would think it was open season on the Bodine place! No sir! Desperate times require desperate measures! What farmer/rancher worth his salt would sit idly by and let nature impose her smothering ways on them? Those darn flowers have vexed me for the last time! Now its personal! It's war, I say! Thelma, fetch me the shovel while you are at it! Thelma? Thelma? THELMA!!!!"

Thankfully for the tulips, Thelma became suddenly distracted by some sappy story about 'out of body experiences and lost loved ones' on Oprah and had no intention of responding to her ridiculous yet demanding husband until the long awaited riveting segment was done, probably after the next commercial break. Elmer, never one to start or finish something without help, became momentarily distracted by a potential gopher hole over by the apple tree (which was a false alarm - just the beginnings of a new dog hole which caused another problem because of that whole 'equal height' thing - only in reverse!) - thus giving the unfortunate tulips a brief reprieve that could possibly stretch until the next mowing the following weekend - thus giving the feisty flowers enough time to store up sufficient energy in their beleaguered bulbs to make yet another brief yet under appreciated appearance next year, Lord willing, that is!

Super-Sized Lamont Now A Full 33% Bigger Than Next Smallest Town! (Which, ironically, is indeed the smallest Town in Washington!)

In a demographic landslide of epic proportions that has the Town of Lamont feeling all spunky and full of themselves, an area Mayor did a simple math calculation that somehow put a rare positive spin on the otherwise cloudy horizon of being the second smallest Town in the State - even though Lamont is slap dab right in the middle of a demographically challenged portion of the Inland Northwest that doesn't seem like it will be getting any better anytime soon. (Dang it, man! Why can't wheat and cattle production be more labor intensive, for Pete's sake? Whoever said that the Industrial Revolution was a good thing! Stupid combustion engine! It's ruined this country!!!) Sadly, this calculation, normally routine for even the most lethargic of 5th graders, consumed well over 90% of the Mayor's cognitive capacity for the day and gave him an excuse to walk around town whining - holding a stupid ice pack to his forehead while pathetically groaning and looking for cheap sympathy from everyone he stumbled across (fat chance finding that around here!) - although, in reality, this somewhat contrived numerical comparison only serves to prove, once again, that statistics can be used to support just about anything if utilized in just the right way!

"Well, I don't mean to brag or nothing, but I just took our current population estimate, subtracted the smallest town's population estimate from that - and then divided that number by our population estimate!" (What!! He used the same number twice in the same calculation? Gasp! What recklessness! What gumption! What creativity in the face of mathematical convention!) "I know, I know - it does seem like some sort of math wizardry or whatever, but when you are the Mayor of a thriving metropolis like Lamont (the envy of all in far, far northwest Whitman County!), people just expect you to step up and solve those big, vexing problems that crop up from time to time - even if they involve that most exacting of task masters - that doggone math! To be honest, I didn't know I had it in me - but that is why they pay me the big bucks, I guess" said the non-salaried public servant (and worth every cent!) with an all too annoying look of smug self-satisfaction that 82% of the population of Lamont would give a kidney to smack off of his face once and for all! "Anyway, higher mathematics can and does take its toll on even the best of us, so I guess I will be taking the day off tomorrow. I am pretty certain I have the vacation time" he rambled insanely, given that Lamont is so small that they cannot provide basic benefits like vacation time - especially for people who do not draw a salary in the first place because of questionable worth and dubious contributions to stated Town goals. "Hey, maybe there will be a Bonanza or Big Valley marathon on or something! If I am going to recuperate, I might as well stay on the cutting edge of the farmer/rancher way of life, for Pete's sake. And you know what they say, 'there is no rest for the wicked' when you are a small town Mayor!" he chuckled, still deluding himself that he is some sort of math wizard or whatever - when in fact everyone will just be happy he is staying home and not hanging around the office getting in the way, goofing stuff up and being a general pain in the tush!

Tragic Development: Initial Reports Indicate That Long Beach Is Even Nicer Than Previously Thought

In yet another withering blow to the already tenuous and teetering concept of municipal self-worth (like we need any more of those!), word came back to the lowly yet largely misunderstood 2nd smallest Town in the State that the original horrific estimates of the outrageous charm and livability of that constant thorn in Lamont's side, Long Beach, were largely underestimated and that, in fact, that doggone Town is just as "cute as a button" (and don't forget how well planned it is!). This ominous news, sent back to Lamont by a wayward and potentially insane Councilperson, came like a bolt from the blue and immediately sent the Lamont Mayor into pitiful seclusion where rumors of wailing and gnashing of teeth abound. (Rumors of a 'hair shirt' have yet to be substantiated.)

"Oh, it is just so nice here! I love it!" said the Lamont Councilperson who must have forgot to pack her medications or something. "I expected it to be nice and all, but this is really a neat Town! Oh, the whole peninsula is just so wonderful! I am not sure I want to go back to Lamont with all of those unfortunate cow smells and where half the population is named Festus! (even the women!) There is just so much life here! And they obviously have an abundance of mayoral management talent that we definitely lack back there in the Palouse" said the crazed lunatic. "It is easy to get stuck in a routine and to forget that wonderful little gems like Long Beach are just a few short hours away by car. I definitely want to come back. Maybe I can move over here at some point, too!" said the tragically lost, confused, befuddled (and traitorous!) Councilperson who has obviously taken leave of her senses!

"Well, sure - this does come as an unfortunate and staggering blow!" said the Lamont Mayor thru the crack in his door that he has refused to open since receiving the first nightmarish reports of the actual outstanding conditions of Long Beach as a vacation wonderland. "Of course I had any number of fantasies about her trip that somehow incorporated killer bees, invading armies, biblical-like plagues involving frogs and the like - but obviously those prayers went unanswered! I mean, was a simple flat tire (or two) too much to ask for. Anyway, that cosmic rejection was to be expected, I guess - but who would have even dreamed that that darn Long Beach would turn out to be even nicer than originally thought - especially since we already knew that they were a bunch of fancy-pants (by Lamont standards!) tourist hogs! Oh yeah, life is fair!" he whined before returning to his darkened abode where he can mope and obsessively wring his hands (when he is not shaking his fist in the general direction of the Pacific Ocean, that is!)

Town Inadvertently Saves Entire Planet After Space Invaders Make Harrowing "First Contact" In The Lowly (Yet Scrappy!) Town Of Lamont

In a clash of cultures so profound and startling that the very future of human society teetered in the balance, the drowsy, shockingly underachieving and largely misunderstood Town of Lamont became the focal point for an intergalactic power struggle between a bossy, narcissistic, and domineering race of aliens from somewhere or another (who really cares, anyway?) and the much-valued yet often annoying human society that we all know and love. The cranky aliens appear to be on a mission to stomp out all intelligent life in the Universe because they are basically insecure, mean-spirited, and had really overbearing mothers or something and thus have a stated goal of visiting all potential life bearing planets they come across in order to destroy any and all intelligent life forms, although, much to their credit, they leave the more unsophisticated and underdeveloped cultures in place so they can have someone to make fun of and tease in order to make themselves feel better and somehow more cool. (Editorial Note: What is this, intergalactic High School or something, for Pete's sake?) As Fate would have it (more like Divine Intervention!), the alien commander, after closing his eyes (all 6 of them!) and spinning around three times fast - then proceeded to put what one would assume was one of his 'fingers' on the map of the Earth and ended up pinpointing the perpetually picked upon and shamelessly singled out (Oh, why is it always us!) Town of Lamont as the test case to determine if there was indeed intelligent life on this new found world, and if so, then they could try out all their new toys and weapons and gadgets or whatever on us! (Editorial Note: It would appear that men are, indeed, all the same, after all - as women have been harping on about for centuries - regardless of what galaxy they come from! (I hate it when they are right!) But hey, who among us doesn't like to blow stuff up from time to time, for Pete's sake? I mean, come on!)

"Well, I was on the phone talking to my sister about my new bunions when, out of the blue, this big fancy space craft looking thing just dropped out of the sky!" said Erma Snopes, 56, the Town's premier non-stop talker. "Well, those quacks that pass for doctors on this planet certainly don't have all the answers, so I marched right up to the first creature to come down the stairs and shoved my foot in what I think was his face and began to ask him what he could do about my nagging bunion problem. So, after explaining to him that I had those dadburn bunions because I went to my niece's wedding in new shoes, although she should have thought about getting married before she had 2 children by that stupid man (with one on the way!) and how I could not believe that they served a carrot cake at a wedding even though they did actually brew coffee instead of just providing instant like is much more common at weddings in the Palouse and how I will never serve my husband beans and ham again before a social gathering because of that unfortunate commotion he caused when they were trying to say their vows - when that obviously insensitive alien or whatever that was just shook that big growth-looking thing that I guess passes for a head and slithered back into the doggone space craft with startling speed given his enormous size! You would think if they flew all this way to see us he would at least have given me a salve or lotion or something for my doggone bunions! (or used a laser or death ray or whatever!) Talk about a wasted trip! And what about my feet?" she fumed.

"Well, I was outside letting my goat Nellie feast on those fancy flowers that Mrs. Bodine has growing on the side of her house when some big shiny thing landed right in the park!" said Gomer Festoon, 62, an area farmer/rancher. "After determining that it was not the Sheriff or some other law enforcement agency coming after me and my goat for some trumped up and totally bogus flower-related trespassing charges, we made our way over to see what the heck was going on. Anyway, this big gray/green thing comes ambling up to me and I stuck my hand out to shake hands which seemed to confuse him somehow and after a really awkward interlude I then went to pull out my chewing tobacco to offer him some (a universal peace gesture!) when the doggone pouch slipped out of my hand and, much to my horror, the dadburn alien bent over to pick the dern thing up for me! Oh, it was horrible! That is one thing that you never do around my goat Nellie - bend over, that is. Before I knew what had happened, that doggone goat had head-butted that poor creature half way to Adams County! (Nellie was indeed in rare form that day!) I mean, that alien abomination was weird looking and all, but the one part of him that was anatomically correct was his dadburn buttocks - so I can't hardly blame Nellie none! That's just what he does, for Pete's sake - and the alien did bend over and all! Anyway, next thing I knew they all just hastily piled back into that spacecraft of theirs and disappeared into the sky - without so much as a goodbye or 'Oh, never mind'. It was all very rude! And we ain't heard nothing from them since, neither!" he said smugly while leading Nellie over to the Snopes place where their prize tulips are finally in bloom.

Local Rancher With Un-Rancher-Like Name Never Really Accepted By Other Ranchers

In a tragic episode of a mother's overly exuberant love tinged with delusions of grandeur gone awry and where a passing fancy in the maternity ward half a century or more ago was destined to cause problems for decades to come - an area farmer/rancher, sadly named Bif Balfour, age 52, has had to suffer innumerable slings and arrows from the greater farmer/rancher community because his name "don't sound like us at all!' - thus leading to suspicion, teasing, isolation and oftentimes open hostility from the rancher families themselves. "Well, if there is one thing we know about, it is culling the herd, doggone it!" said Jethro Snopes, a local farmer/rancher with a normal sounding name in these parts, thank goodness. "So when we see some unusual trait or characteristic, regardless of how small or meaningless, we love nothing better than marshaling our forces and sending the offending critter to the renderer or the dog food factory or whatever faster than you can say 'buttered grits'!" (Editorial Note: Does anyone even eat grits in Washington State? That expression thus seems artificially folksy and quite unnecessary somehow!) "Anyway, when that Balfour woman went and done named her only boy 'Bif', we just could not believe our luck! That single event pretty much gave our largely meaningless and mean-spirited lives purpose for the last 50 years! Sure, we could not send him away on one of those cattle trucks or nothing, but we sure could have a heck of a time making him feel isolated and less than he really was. Oh, that was so fun!" said the beaming high school dropout thru a Jack-o-lantern like smile. (Editorial Note: Does he really need to smile that often? I mean, have some pity on those around you, for goodness sake!)

"Well, sure, looking back, if I could have had another name, I am still not sure if I would have done it - but it sure would have made living around here a lot easier, I guess" said the besieged Bif while pulling off his manure covered rubber boots in the naively called "mud room" of his modest 'ranch style house'. (Editorial Note: If you are already a rancher, why would you have to live in a 'ranch style house'? I mean, isn't that just laying it on a little thick? We get it! You buy into the whole 'rancher lifestyle'! You are committed! Okay, let's move on!) I mean, I know the name "Bif" is much more suited for some surfer movie with a bunch of bikini-clad babes cooing all over the place and all of that and doesn't really fit in with being ankle deep in those unfortunate cow byproducts all day long, but it is just a name, for Pete's sake - and I didn't choose it for myself! It does not define me at all. I smell just as bad as any of those Bodines or Snopes or Festoons or Blats - regardless of whether their first names are Festus, Fester, Jethro, Bubba, Moose, Gator, or whatever the cultural elite around here like to name their snooty kids!" said Bif. "And my poor sainted momma regretted that decision her whole dern life. On her deathbed, some of her last words to me were "I'm sorry for naming you Bif, Bif! I should have listened to your papa and named you Festus like he wanted - but half the kids in cattle country were (and still are, for Pete's sake!) named Festus, and I just wanted to make you unique somehow! Please forgive me, son!" - and then the doctors had to drag me from the room as I shouted "I forgive you, momma! I love the name Bif!". That was the first and last time I ever lied to my poor, sweet momma - but she was dying and all. Why hurt the poor woman at that point?" he said pragmatically, wiping away a rare tear.

The Normally Snarling and Cantankerous Town Council Becomes All Sweet And Docile After Mayor Mentions Tekoa's Kynda Browning

In the classic and time tested ploy of "A little sugar makes the medicine go down", a local Mayor was forced to employ powerful forces from outside of Lamont to once again overcome the determined and quite understandable opposition of the Town Council who, in a testament to good government and common sense, is hell-bent on thwarting each and every hair-brained scheme and incoherent boondoggle that the Mayor trots out from that seemingly bottomless pit of bad ideas that he has.

"Well, anytime I am in the same room with that doggone Mayor, it takes all of the energy and restraint I possess (and some she obviously doesn't!) to just not reach over and pinch his dadburn head off" said a local red-cheeked Councilwoman with largely justified emotional outrage! (whoa, tell us how you really feel! Don't hold back!) "And as he sat there floundering and sputtering and working me into a towering inferno of surprisingly Viking-like fury - and no thought was more consuming for me than just putting the poor soul out of his quite pitiful misery once and for all - when all of a sudden, in apparent desperation, the Mayor brought up that quite outstanding Kynda Browning's name and all the good things she has done to help Lamont, and I just felt this eerie, supernatural calm descend upon my inflamed, warlike passions like a gentle ocean mist putting out the last stubborn embers of a raging forest fire or whatever! And before I knew it, that stupid Mayor got his whole outrageous agenda approved; lock, stock and barrel! I just found myself voting yes, yes, yes - like I was having some sort of municipal 'out-of-body experience' or something! It was as if I was helpless against such a powerful talisman! Darn his eyes! That just wasn't fair!" she pouted quite demurely!

"Well, this pains me to say, but the Mayor is obviously not as dumb as he looks - I mean - how could he be? Whoa!" said a local Councilman who asked not to be identified because saying even halfway nice things about the Mayor ensures certain defeat in the next election. (was that 'halfway nice'?? - Good gravy, man! What a tough crowd!) "Anyway! There he was, blathering on hopelessly like he always does - lulling the entire council into self-contained little beacons of annoyance and righteous fury - when at just the right moment - mere seconds before some hideous melee broke out, he so casually trots out Kynda Browning's work for the Town and the whole Council just folded like a cheap suit - myself included! At that exact second I was fantasizing about running him down with my tractor when all of a sudden he muttered that name and I heard birds chirping, I smelled wild flowers blooming and before I could restrain myself I had agreed to things that I would be naturally opposed to on moral, legal, ethical, common sense, and 'good taste' grounds! That rascal did it to us again!" he fumed while stomping his foot in blind, impotent rage!

The Lamont Blog Turns 200! (stories, that is!) (Yes, now you must read them ALL, doggone it!)

The Lamont Blog is, for the most part, nonsensical horseplay - silly perhaps - fitful at the best of times - but largely symbolic of not very much. It's meant to be that way, doggone it! (we are the 2nd smallest Town in the State, for Pete's sake! There just ain't a lot to drone on about!) If it were a "serious" endeavor or profound social commentary on local conditions and/or personalities, which it's not (we have the sworn testimony of a sizable segment of this rural area for this, and we know they mean that as a compliment because they usually put the word 'serious' in quotes - right after other salty words that we shudder to repeat here! Gasp!) we might describe it as a ham-fisted commentary on a broader culture that seems to have forgotten the principle of fun for fun's sake and become obsessed with misery (mainly their own!), disaster (hopefully someone else's!), illness (ditto on their own!), operations, violence, that phony climate change, lingering guilt, seemingly stubborn obesity, bad cooking (always someone else's!), cow prices, gas prices, milk prices, Angelina Jolie, politics (oh, please don't mention that poor Obama around here!), and a general sense of impending and inescapable (and well-deserved!) doom! But not being intended as serious or meaty, as the literary or journalistic worlds understand these oft-misused terms, we can offer no such pretentious excuse for ourselves other than it is all we got! The Lamont Blog is simply the occasional taking off on what any half-way decent 8 year-old would call a frolic in its own right - written to be completely over the top for the most part, and should be taken for the fun of it - especially if you are on psychotropic medications and/or tend to get all emotional and angry at things beyond your immediate control. (yes, this is a lame attempt to cut down on our quite voluminous and spirited local hate mail! What energy they have! What pluck!) In that spirit we gladly offer farmer/rancher cultural insights (who would have guessed they were so touchy?), cow psychology, small town delusions of grandeur, innumerable Mayor mishaps, seething town rivalries and the like. All the parrot stories are true, however! (Hey, don't forget the wiener dogs! What is Lamont without our doggone wiener dogs?) There is no mole-hill we cannot turn into an entire mountain range of some sort! If for some strange reason you read this Blog and see yourself being described here, our suggestion would be to seek professional help, go on decaf and/or stop thinking about yourself so darn much! But hopefully there will be the occasional story that prompts some form of recognition in others - and then we would encourage you to gleefully crow over that realization without mercy and derive tremendous amounts of pleasure and satisfaction at the unfortunate victim's always enjoyable discomfort and pained uneasiness at finally being found out! What else do you have to do right now? I mean, come on! Thank you! Signed, The largely under-appreciated and misunderstood yet shockingly (some would say annoyingly!) resilient Lamont Blog staff! (from our secret, undisclosed location where we like to hang out with Dick Cheney!)

Local Cheapskate Farmer/Rancher Celebrates 40th Anniversary Of Not Actually Buying Table Salt

In a rare testament to frugality and thriftiness seldom seen in this country (or anywhere!) in the last 200 years, an area farmer/rancher, Festus Bodine, age 58, once again proved that he is master of his own alternative universe by successfully completing another year without bowing down to the oppressive pressure of society itself and buckling under in order to fork over $.99 for an extra large container of sodium chloride - also known in some uninformed circles as common table salt. "Well, half the fun of being a farmer/rancher is developing strange and unusual rituals that pit basic common sense against the sheer willpower of a man who decides to do something for no particular reason without consideration to the repercussions to himself or those around him!" said Festus while puffing out his chest and hooking one thumb in his unpleasantly malodorous overalls. "I mean, why in tarnation would I go buying that dern fancy table salt when I already have a 50 pound block of the stuff sitting right out there in the barn? That just don't make no sense!" he fumed indignantly!

"And what is good enough for my cows is sure good enough for my doggone wife and kids, now ain't it? Sure, there is that extra step of scraping off that cantankerous layer of bovine slobber each and every time me or the wife wants to add a little flavor to our food, but that is a small price to pay for living foot-loose and fancy free in the good old USA! And a little cow slobber never hurt a thing, now did it?" he said proudly. "Dang it, man! That is why this country is going to hell in a hand basket - all that waste on things that a person just don't need. Sure, people think we are weird because we brush our teeth with ground up charcoal, too - but we got gobs of the stuff from our wood burning stove - so why let it go to waste? And everyone knows that toothpaste is one of them 'Commie-lover' inventions, anyway! And it's perfectly good charcoal - and like the Good Book says "Waste not, want not", don't it? (Does it?) And besides, that dern saltlick salt don't seem to have hurt the kids none, neither. Sure, they just stand around all day chewing gum, making funny noises and staring blankly off into space just like the herd, but that is pretty much par for the course with kids now-a-days, ain't it? (and, by the way, imitation is the highest form of flattery - or so they say!) And they certainly never had any problems putting on and retaining weight! So what is the big deal all about, anyway? Sure, those unsightly goiters from a basic lack of iodine (a common additive to that doggone fancy 'store bought' table salt!) are kind of unfortunate, but that just serves to make them kids unique! There is just too much conformity to them doggone cultural norms these days, if you ask me! It's really killing this dadburn country!" he said with only a tinge of madness in his otherwise expressionless face.