Al right. All Right. Okay. When the Earth starts spinning into grimmer shadows,
sometimes we need to take a breather. One of the natural states of man is to be laughing.
We cherish the entertainers who make us laugh, the funny uncle with the bad jokes (me), the wordsmiths who punctuate a page with laughter and wisdom, from Mark Twain to Kinky Friedman to Lewis Grizzard (Did I miss anybody?).
We’ve all read Mark Twain, some under duress, with a chalk eraser pointed at our head.
Not as many will have read Kinky Friedman, musician, novelist, writer of etiquette guides and recently biographical sketches of some of his friends (‘Scuse Me While I Whip This Out’-Willy Nelson, George Bush, Don Imus and others across the social plains). In these politically correct days I refuse to mention his ode to Women‘s Liberation. But you could look it up. (Hint: the name of this post)
Here’s a health tip: Go to a used bookstore and find and read Lewis Grizzard. Journalist, columnist, Atlanta Braves Fan. Author of many fine musings collected in:
“I Haven’t Understood Anything Since 1962 (And Other Nekkid Truths)”
“Shoot Low, Boys, They’re Riding Shetland Ponies”
“You Can’t Put No Boogie-Woogie on the King of Rock and Roll” and of course,
“Don’t Bend Over in the Garden, Granny, ‘Cause You Know Them Tater’s Got Eyes.”
And have fun out there.