pitchers tuck by buddy don: views frum the top

cuple thangs to say bout this here blog. miz bd gut me a doe mane name of wanderinghillbilly.com, so ye kin jes type that into yer browser ifn ye wonta visit! wudnt that nice of her? nuther thang ye mite wonta notiss is how i putt a lank up to whar ye kin see all them pitchers tuck by buddy don over on my smugmug site. caint figger why that didnt occur to me ere now, but thar ye go.

heres a few more frum le conte, witch ifn ye aint notissd, tiz one of my favert places, speshly this particular trail ... ye git sum nice views frum yer top, witch that means yer on the way down ...

pitchers tuck by buddy don: made it to the top

these here pitchers should be proof a nuff that me n miz bd made it to the top of mt le conte, witch tiz a thang that gits a lil more doubtfull ever year that passes (but we dun purty good fer a cuple fifty-sumthins!) ...

furst, heres whar a bidy could git a bite to eat n a lil perteckshun frum the cold ...

pitchers tuck by buddy don: in them clouds

whenever ye hike in them smokies, ye are verr lackly to find yerself up in them clouds. tiz why they call em the smokies, n tiz why everythang is sorta hazy. tiz moist, clean n as sweet smellin as innythang thay is. heres a cuple pitchers that shows them clouds ...

pitchers tuck by buddy don: shovel reddy

by the way, i bin puttin up pitchers everday kindly lack a eggspearmint on a counta i have notissd that the more pitchers i putt on this here blog, the more traffick i git. i reckun it has sumthin to do with googles algorerhythms or sumthin. ifn i kin keep it up, mayhap i will see hunderds dozens of vistors everday!

innywho, one of the thangs me n miz bd seen a lot of whenever we clumb mt le conte wuz a gang of fellers that wuz a'fixin the trail, witch on a counta the rain, twuz nigh onto bein a crick n not a trail. (aint no tellin whuther thays wurkin on a counta that stimulus money, witch we wuz glad thays a'wurkin no matter whar thar pay cum frum.)

woodnt that be a grate job to have? climbin them mountains everday, wurkin to keep them trails safe, sleepin up in the lodge ... they claim sumbidy wuz able to climb down the mountain in 30 mints n back up in a hour n a half, witch thay wuz on a beer run!

innywho, heres a cuple pitchers of one of them nice fellers ...

waka of budouadana: Roots

Roots

Great exposed tree roots
Hold the wet trail together
As they grip the earth,
Trapping water in crannies,
Reflecting the world above.

pitchers tuck by buddy don: alum bluff trails rocky rode

anniversries of buddy don: blog turns 5, er, 6 year ole today

i caint hardly bleeve it n cum nigh on to missin it, but today makes six year i bein a'ritin thangs in this here blog. twuz a thang i dun on a whim n manely sos i could practiss ritin in hillbilly dialeck till i could git it reglar. ye mite notiss i dint say 'till i could git it rite' on a counta aint no rite bout it. i doot the way i herd my elders a'doon it whenever thay wuz a'tellin each other stories bout how twuz a'growin up way back in the hills of east tennessee.

n then one thang kindly led to a nuther n then on to six year of ritin. fack is, aint nuthin hepped my ritin more, witch by that i mean nuthin has ever kep me productiv fer so long.

corse the reason fer that is all yall, witch somehow the thought bout ye readin whutever i git round to ritin makes me wonta rite sumthin fer ye, even ifn i aint gut no idee whuther thays moren one or two that ackshly reads innythang here (almost all the traffick that cums to this site cums to look at a pitcher they found in googles images).

but the idee of readers has gut me to rite thangs i never thunk i wood rite, including shoot the devil, witch tiz the furst book in life n pinions of buddy don, hillbilly, not to menchun all these other thangs as of this here anniversry):

• 342 pinions of buddy don


• 335 pomes of buddy don, witch a bunch of em wuz waka


• 208 waka of budouadana


• 147 chapturs of life n pinions of buddy don, hillbilly


• 287 pitchers tuck by buddy don


• n too much infermayshun on topicks lack migraines n other persunull junk

so to all yall, i say, thankee verr verr much fer bein my muse n mane inspirayshun, whut gits me up a 4 in the mornin sos i kin maybe cum up with sumthin to rite or mayhap a pitcher to show ye ... lack this ackcidentull self portrutt:



yall cum back now!

mizry of buddy don: wuz it a migraine?

yesterdy i woke up with a killer hedache on the rite side of my hed, eggzackly whar them migraines hits me. thang wuz, i dint have a lot of tuther stuff that cums long with a real migraine, witch ye mite could call em psykologicull effecks. so i went to wurk n dun a presntayshun to our global team n gritted my way thru a cuple other importunt meetins n then went in fer a meetin with my boss, witch he tuck one look at me n ast me 'why are you here? why aren't you at home taking your medicine?' i tole eem twuz a panefull thang but not as bad as it could be -- i dint have to vomit nun, fer instunts -- but he let me tell eem a cuple thangs bout my trip to mason n then tole me to go home.

so i dun it n nex thang ye know, i had dun slept the afternoon away.

but i tuck a pitcher on our trip up mt le conte that kindly shows ye how these thangs feel, witch ifn y magine yer a tree, thank how it mite hurt to have this a'growin outta the side of yer hed ...



ifn ye look real keeful lack, ye mite could see whut look lack a cuple faces in that lump on the side of the tree. miz bd sees one thats kinly in profile a'lookin to the rite, n i see one thats gut horns on his hed lookin strate to the left. mayhhap thays two of em in thar?

looks almost lack that poor tree wuz invaded by sum angry spirit that had to show its face, makin a ugly bulge on the side of the tree, witch cum to thank of it, thats a lot lack a migraine feels ceptn tiz yer hed insted of a tree trunk.

pitchers tuck by buddy don: nuthern frum le conte

seems lack i bin trine to ketch my own tail ever since gittin back frum vacayshun. i gut to be at wurk early today sos i kin brush up fer a presentauyshun to our global team, so i wont have much time to do innythang moren post a nuther pitcher frum le conte, witch as anne johnson sed in a comment, 'Ain't the mountains wunnerful fer bein bettern art?' tiz a fack, ma'am!

eggscuses of buddy don: overslept agin

jes couldnt make myself fall back asleep when i woke round midnite but then couldnt wake back up once i finely fell asleep long about the time i generly git up.

heres a pitcher frum our hike:

'vacayshuns' of buddy don: ruff grate mothers tour of 2009

me n miz bd lacks to take whut we call the grate mothers tour of whutever year it is that we git a chants to go visit our mothers, mine in tennessee, hern in ohio. we generly rent a car n drive to one place or tuther n then home, witch this year we had a lil stop in washingtun deecee that miz bd had to make on a counta she is lobbyin our jr senator to do the rat thang with respeck to the unitin amurkin famblies ack.

well, thangs couldnt have gone hardly no wurser than they dun. my mama had to go to the hospitull on the secunt day we were thar, had to have hart surgry the forth day n dint git out of the hospitull till the fifth day, witch by then we needed to git on to ohio. i am deelited to say she seems to have cum thru the surgry purty good (taint that easy to tell, but we are hopefull n thangs aint gut no wurser since).

but thay wuz sum good moments, speshly climbin mt le conte, witch we wuz a'doin that whenever mama was a'goin to the hospitull. whut a sprize to leave in the mornin with her a'doin jes fine n then to cum home to find eli thar splainin how she wuz back in the hospitull agin.

but heres one of a bout a thousund pitchers i tuck of our hike up the mountain ...

waka of budouadana: Gratitude

Gratitude

Our parents give us
Life, care and independence,
Proving selfless love,
For which they ask for nothing
But a child’s pure gratitude.

waka of budouadana: Surprised

Surprised

Forgot my iPod
This morning before walking
In the May breezes,
Where I was surprised to hear
An angelic choir of birds.

vacayshuns of buddy don: the grate mothers tour of 2009

in case ye git to wundern whuther i have dun dropped offn this here worl, dont wurry nun: me n miz bd is a'gone git on the rode later on today sos we kin visit with our kin in the grate states of tennessee n ohio. we kin hardly wait to see em! miz bd is a'gone brang a laptop cumputer she gut, so mayhap i will git the chants to post a pitcher or sumthin.

our dream fer the trip is to git sum good a nuff wether to climb mt le conte agin. n thays a cuple graves we wood lack to honor.

we orta be back in a cuple weeks ...


yall take keer now!

waka of budouadana: Reversal

Reversal

Setback equals test,
Stumble opportunity,
Reversal a chance
To master fate and oneself,
To grow stronger and wiser.

life of buddy don: whut buck sed

in a comment on the pitcher i putt up yesterdy, buck of Tete-â-Tete-â-Tete pointed out a cuple of thangs only a verr sharp observer wood ever notiss:

I love the way Ezekiel's eye is caught in the rim of the mirror. That is neat.

And the guy in the picture on the shelf. That picture looks like it was taken in the mountains of appalachia.

Was it?

furst, tiz a bit of a shame to half to add mitt that me n miz bd dint even notiss the refleckshun of ezekiels eye in the rim of the meer!

secunt, tiz a good bit of notissin thangs to catch the pitcher on the shelf. tiz indeed in appalachia. fack is, tiz a pitcher thats verr famus in our fambly. twuz tuck by liams grandpa, who he is in the same pitcher. tiz a pitcher of daddy fly fishin on the obed river back in the 70s sum time (twuz a place whar folks dint visit verr often in them daze). daddy wuz standin at one of his favert places to fish, rite whar clear creek cums into the obed. we used to camp on the lil spit of land twixt them two rivers, n i hope sumday to visit it agin, witch tiz a tuff hike to git thar ... or twuz in them daze.

daddys aint with us no more, but i hope hes found as good a place to fish whar he is now as that place wuz then.

so kudos to buck fer havin such a grate eye! n thankee, sir, fer the comment.

pitchers tuck by buddy don: lucky shot

tuther week (or munth) me n miz bd gut to go to a party fer my grate neffyew (n he is a grate lil feller!). durin the celebrayshun, i tuck a pitcher in a meer that turnt out magickull ...



in that thar pitcher ye kin see ezekiel n my grate neffyew liam n his grandpa n tony n pitchers of sum of the fambly thats no longer with us n sum that is. twuz a lucky shot. tiz proof that ye orta take as minny pitchers as ye kin ifn ye wonta git a goodun. i tuck over 700 of em that day ...

pomes of buddy don: It Can't Be Our Fault

It Can’t Be Our Fault

You fought through the war, you’re home and upset,
But we don’t want to hear nothing no how,
We don’t want to see you on our Tee Vee set
Fighting the wars we don’t care about now.

The bombs, the destruction, it all brings us down —
We don’t want to seem the least bit unkind —
But we have a game, our team is in town,
So why should we sully our beautiful mind?

Why should we care about demons who haunt
You soldiers, you sailors, airmen or marines?
You come home brooding and looking so gaunt
As if we should share in the trouble you’ve seen!

We just want to relax, knock back a few beers,
It can’t be our fault since you’re all volunteers!

mizry of buddy don: flu

i aint bin ritin nuthin fer bout a week on a counta havin the flu, witch ye mite could say twuz a ruff row to hoe. i am still loded with congestchun n coffin my fool hed off n hopin miz bd dont cum down with the same flu. i hope to git back to reglar postin purty soon. n i hope nun of yall gits this flu, witch it had me with hi fever fer days (102) then low fevers with abdominull distress, witch ye dont need to here nuthin bout that to git how trublesum such a malady is.

waka of budouadana: Flu

Flu

Air through both nostrils,
No elevated fever,
Queasiness or runs,
But sweet survivor’s fatigue —
Renewed spirit after flu.

waka of budouadana: Capture

Capture

Energy from suns
Pours freely into the void
Towards entropy,
Yet fragile grass and flowers
Capture it and build whole worlds.

waka of budouadana: Earth

Earth

Newly budded leaves
Splashes of bright tulip hues
Cherry blossom snow
Blind kittens crying for milk
The smell of newly plowed earth

pomes of buddy don: No Matter What He Does

No Matter What He Does

We used to talk about the famous “up or down vote,”
As if that were the only thing that mattered,
But now that things have changed, we all must chant another note
In shocked tones that suggest we’ve been mad hattered!

We do not even know who our next enemy will be,
And yet we know for certain we oppose this great unknown,
Obstructive fights could be avoided if the nominee
Were wisely chosen from our very own!

For "empathy" for wealthy folks (now that we’re on the run!)
Is something that fits well with our great creed —
And that would be OK since we will back most anyone
Who understands the poor rich man’s great need!

No matter what he does, we can be sure it will be wrong —
If that weren’t true, we’d have to go and learn another song!

waka of budouadana: Bright Day

Bright Day

As dark clouds gather,
We brace for the coming storm
With prayers of thanks,
Knowing that the greening trees
Mean a bright day will soon dawn.

pitchers tuck by buddy don: gone so soon

them cherry blossoms wuz here fer a verr short season, but now thar near all dun been shed frum thar trees. heres a cuple pitchers of em whenever they wuz in peak:

waka of budouadana: Lilacs

Lilacs

When the lilacs bloom
In early May, their rich fragrance
Fills the heavy air
With bruised purple memories
Of our sweet baby sister.

amazement of buddy don: a nuther Amazon revue

twuz my grate good fortchun to git wurd that thays now a secunt revue of shoot the devil up on Amazon.com. heres the lank.

bleeve it or not, thays still a few of them furst 49 left so dont deelay ifn ye wonta git ye one. jes foller this lank. as a reeminder, heres whut ye git:

1. a brand new copy of shoot the devil packed in rice paper with luv


2. the book will be chopped by my own persnull chop, witch tiz the chinese care-ackters fer wandering hillbilly


3. twill be numberd as witchever one of the furst 49 ye happend to git (fer instunts, it could be 48/49!)


4. finely, ifn ye give me two wurds fer the subjeck of a waka ye wood lack to be writ jes fer ye, i will cumpose sed waka n rite it by hand in yer own copy of the book

go read them revues n see ifn taint the kinda book ye orta be readin yer ownself.

finely, thankee, thankee, thankee bonnie! (ye half to foller one of them lanks in the verr post yer a'readin ifn ye wonta know who bonnie is.)

eggscuses of buddy don: sleepin in hot weather

i had a terrbull time sleepin on a counta me n miz bd dint wonta start the air condishuner on fer one nite when thay wuz a cooler frunt a'cummin in. but twernt easy to sleep, witch it dint seem lack i dun much of that till this mornin, when twuz too much.

a nuff of that!

waka of budouadana: Peak

Peak

Magnolias blush,
Tulips strut in proud colors,
Cherry blossoms peak,
Yet all too quickly they fade
Into the heat of late spring.

pomes of buddy don: What Are These Fools Thinking?!?

What Are These Fools Thinking?!?

What are these fools thinking, when they attack,
The high-minded lawyers who came to assist
Our leaders who wanted to invade Iraq
Yet couldn’t procure proof from nabbed terrorists?

We’d learned in Korea lessons that SERE’d
As torture induced downed airmen to confess
To crimes for which their homeland could be smeared,
For one will say anything under duress.

Though in those old days 'to waterboard'
Was widely called torture, even by us,
Its use as a tool *now* can’t be ignored!!!
Time bombs could be ticking!!! What’s all the fuss?!?

We’ve all heard it said, 'We don't torture' it’s true —
But we get 'good intell' if we ever do!

waka of budouadana: Calendar

Calendar

White pear blossoms
Fall as new green leaves emerge,
Charting the Earth’s course
Round the sun as precisely
As our modern calendar.

pitchers tuck by buddy don: them magnolyas at that brooklyn garden

me n miz bd gut ourself out to the brooklyn botanick garden over the weekend, witch twuz a purty day, sum of them cherry blossoms wuz out, n the magnolyas wuz at thar peak. corse that means ye wont hardly be able to see nuthin on a counta all them folks in the way.

i figgerd i woodnt try to git pitchers of the flora, but the fauna, the human fauna, wuz thar in all thar glory, mosly takin pitchers, so heres a few i tuck of them includin one of a feller takin a pitcher i had to be in ...

revues of buddy don: 'haircut stories' by lydia copeland

i have writ about the ritin of lydia copeland, who she just cum out with a chapbook of short wurks name of 'haircut stories.'

i gut me one by droppin by the site above, whar ye kin also read sum blurbs on the book.

tiz a slim volume but each of the lil flash fickshun pieces in it remind me a lil of the tent harry potter wuz usin in the last book: frum the outside, they look tiny, but ifn ye stop inside, a hole worl opens up. each time ye read one of these lil prose pomes, witch thats how they wurk on ye, thays a lil more that ye notiss n larn. one piece name of 'haircut' kep growin in strangth till it seemd lack i couldnt read it without gittin tears in my eyes. thays a grater sense of depth each time ye read inny of em. i have dun red the hole thang about six times, but i aint tired of it yet.

i real eyes ye gut to watch yer dollars, witch tiz a good reason not to git a copy of shoot the devil on a counta tiz a bit pricey. i wish i could do sumthin bout that. on tuther hand, ye kin git ye a copy of haircut stories fer lil or nuthin. n ever time ye read it, ye will git a lil more of a story than the time befor.

more good luck of buddy don: his book gits its furst amazon revue!

taint as big a sprize as ye mite could thank, but a verr nice persun has dun writ a revue of shoot the devil over on amazon, witch ye kin read it by clickin here.

heres a lil quote frum that revue, witch twuz writ by anne johnson of The Gods Are Bored n Six Word Blog:

His hillbilly writing style notwithstanding, Buddy Don is highly literate, attending college, working the computers at Oak Ridge Laboratory, presiding over lively parties at his rural farm, pondering the Big Questions. This novel suggests -- as do so many others done in vernacular -- that there's no clear correlation between conversational idiom and intelligence level. "Shoot the Devil" is a fine piece of work. In quality paperback format, it will withstand multiple readings without blemish. Well worth the price of admission.

did i menchun that thays still a few of the furst 49 left?

ye kin git in on this grate deal: ye git the book, chopped, signed n with a waka writ rite in it based on two wurds ye give me fer a subjeck.

no order will be refused ... n did i fergit that ye git free shippin in these here united states? n ifn ye order frum sumwhars else, we will see whut we kin do to make that shippin free also.

so take add vantage of the eggschange rates n git ye a unique piece of wurk uh, art.

pitchers tuck by buddy don: yunguns

thay wuz a big birthdy party this weekend fer my great nefyew liam, witch twuz his secunt birthdy. turnt out that most everybidy cum, including ezekiel, so heres a few pitchers of them yunguns ...

heres the birthdy boy offerin a carrot to his Grandie...


here he is eatin one of his favert thangs, witch he calls em 'matoes' ...


mayhap this shirt wuz the birthdy boys favert new gift, witch he wuz showin it off rite away ...


corse, ezekiel wuz thar n doin all his latest tricks, witch he has dun larnt how to stand up long as he kin hold onto sumthin ...


he wuz also fassinated by the ceilin fan, witch he hattent never seen one befor...

pitchers tuck by buddy don: street flowers

criticks of buddy don: whut a cuple more comminters sed

fer the most part, my life has bin one whar ye could say twuz better lucky than good. fer proof of that, cunsidder the hi qualty of them that rites commints here.

i writ bout anonnymus wundern whuther i wuz trine to be funny or sumthin by ritin in hillbilly dialeck. thay wuz sum good commints that cum frum that, witch one of em leads to a verr good idee (thankee smijer!).

we kin save whut smijer had to say bout them commints frum anonnymus till the end on a counta how it brangs up a good idee. meanwhile, twuz my verr good luck to have this commint frum anne johnson frum the gods are bored n six word blog:

"Anonymous" doesn't have a lock on proper grammar him/herself. Writing must be true to the heart and soul, and this is the way you want to do it, BD. To thine own self be true.

lucky a nuff fer me, i dont know no other way to do it.

the next commint cums frum a feller i aint never met but feel lack i bin a'knowin all my life, who that wood be buck frum the same blog as smijer, tete-a-tete-a-tete (caint make them symbulls cum out rite on blogger fer sum reason):

The first time I ever read this blog I laughed out loud because it reads almost exactly like me and many of my kin folks talk.

I think it is funny as hell and purty much dead on.

I thank if we followed the blood river Buddy we would find that many of mine are kin to yorn.

mayhap i feel lack i know buck on a counta we could be cuzins or sumthin. twoodnt sprize me n twood be a honor ifn turnt out to be true!

the next commint is nigh onto poetry, cummin frum a comminter name of marcia, who she rites a grate blog bout knittin n purt near ever other subjeck under the sun name of purls before swine:

Oh buddy don. I have to get to bed right now, but need to put this down before I forget. Over the past few weeks I've been gazing on my own navel on the idea of of "personal vernacular". At this time, however, I will spare you the configuration of the lint, therein.

Personal vernacular is a powerful thing. It is rich and poor. It connects and separates. It has sound and imagery. It can sustain thought without a word spoken. It is a word spoken, without need of thought.

It is the blankie that comforts and helps us transition to new worlds and experiences.

It is the wallpaper of our soul.

lack i sed, the way marcia knits wurds together is pure poetry. i wish i coulda cum up with half them grate metafors bout persunal vernackular.

finely, heres whut smijer had to say, witch this is such a good idee that i am a'gone try to see whuther i kin make sumthin of it:

Have you ever done any audio? What I hear when I read you probably isn't exactly what you hear when you write... I'd love to hear the 'real thing'.

I'm afraid I've all but lost recollection of the dialects I grew up with, but I love to hear any country dialect, including European ones... they all sound a little bit like home to me.

fack is, i have dun a lil audio, but i aint dun whut i shoulda dun alreddy dun ere now: record a lil bit of this here dialeck that i kin here clear as a bell in my mind but kin convey to the page only so good (never as good as i kin here it).

fer eggsample, nigh onto everbidy knows that down south the furst persun singular is pronounced without the dipthong that makes it two vowel sounds, a "aaah" follerd by a "ee" sound. we dont add the 'ee'. tiz almost impossibull to capchur that in letters, so i dun give it up n settled on usin 'i' on a counta i figger most folks know bout how that wurd is pronounced by folk lack me. thang is, i aint a'gone putt 'aaah sed this' nor 'aaah sed that' but ye kindly git the idee.

innywho, thankee one n all fer yer criticisum. ye caint git a nuff of that in this world fer the most part n i am verr gratefull fer it.

pomes of buddy don: Our Only Shield

Our Only Shield

Although we outspend all other nations
To defend ideals we oft forget,
We feel a sense of growing desperation,
As bands of criminals still pose a threat.

Like British redcoats marching in their files
Through rugged wilderness of colonies
To be defeated by guerrilla wiles,
We think our navy master of the seas.

We do not understand the changed terrain —
Of nations whose people are set ablaze
By terrorists, by pirates, the insane —
Who grow by declaiming our errant ways.

Great power is an awesome thing to wield,
But moral high ground is our only shield.

pitchers tuck by buddy don: statchew of jackie gleason

purty near everbidy in these united states has seen a episode or two of the honeymooners. thays a statchew of the mane carackter of that show (ifn thays a mane one on a counta ye caint magine the show without norton n alice), ralph cramden, in frunt of the port authorty bus stayshun. i tuck a few pitchers of it tuther day, witch heres one of em ...

pitchers tuck by buddy don: faces lack mirrors

criticks of buddy don: whut anonnymus sed

ever so often sumbidy cums by to read this here blog that aint one of the 4 or 5 that reads it on a reglar basis. tiz often the case that they wonta attack my use of hillbilly dialeck. let me point out now that i aint trine to say how ever hillbilly talks: whut i rite is as close as i kin cum to the dialeck i herd used by my fambly whenever we wood all gather n tell tales.

thang is, i dont bleeve inny two people use eggzackly the same langwage. everbidy has thar own. tiz true that skools try to flatten the langwage n make us all use it the same eggzack way, but langwage dont wurk thataway: ifn it did, ye wood be able to read beowulf direckly without translayshun.

innywho, here is whut anonnymus had to say:

Not sure how your attempts at the local vernacular are intended as humor.

i wood hope them thats been readin this here blog knows bettern to thank my 'attempts at the local vernacular' are intended as humor. they aint. tiz my means of recordin how them i wuz razed by happend to talk. fer me, tiz the best way to tell stories n i lack to practiss ever chants i git.

pinions of buddy don: ifn tennessee is on the frunt page of the ny times ...

... then taint lackly to be good news, lessn tiz about them lady vols. todays ny times aint no different, witch it has a articull name of Firm Acted as Tutor in Selling Towns Risky Deals:

LEWISBURG, Tenn. — Five years ago, this small factory town was struggling to pay the interest on a bond for new sewers. Bob Phillips, Lewisburg’s part-time mayor and full-time pharmacist, was urged by the town’s financial adviser, an investment bank named Morgan Keegan & Company, to engage in a complex financial transaction to lower interest rates.

When a Lewisburg official attended a state-sponsored seminar intended to lay out the transaction’s benefits and risks, he was taught by investment bankers from Morgan Keegan.

And when Lewisburg decided to go ahead with the transaction, who was there to make the deal? Morgan Keegan.

In January, local officials were shocked to discover that annual interest payments on the bond had quadrupled to $1 million. Morgan Keegan, they said, did not serve them well in any of its roles.

dont that jes beat all? sum of the wurst news is how them industries is movin out of tennessee, witch the menchun of sanford pencils moving to mexico is a prime eggsample. jes brakes yer hart that these jobs trickle down to other cuntries (on a counta trickle down always means jobs fer them that wurks fer the least money, no matter whuther tiz in this cuntry or sum othern).

waka of budouadana: Meaning

Meaning

Cruel reality
Cares not whether we live
Or die abruptly,
So life only has meaning
If we live as if it did.

pitchers tuck by buddy don: reflecktin man hattan

pitchers tuck by buddy don: Mr. Dienstbier

ye dun herd how a pitcher is wurth a thousund wurds ... thisn purty much gives ye a lil insight into miz bd ...

waka of budouadana: Creeping

Creeping

Like a creeping cat,
Haunches set expectantly,
Poised to leap and strike,
So the energy of Spring
Is set to burst into bloom.

waka of budouadana: Hope

Hope

As buds become blooms,
Adorning green leaves with pink,
So we turn with hope
To another beginning,
Breathing deep the fleeting scent.