Steel-Cut Extra: In case Barry doesn't post.

He "says" he's going to Colorado, so he may not have a blog entry this week.  I won't believe it unless I see it ...

Every time I go to Colorado, I think of the first time.  I remember the same old things.  It was the first time we had a family vacation.  Before that, my parents had left my brother and me with grandparents.  This time, we got to go with them.

It was a long drive and we were pretty young.  Dad didn’t know how we’d do in the car for the many hours of driving so he made sure our ipads tablets gameboys coloring books were ready as a distraction.

As it turned out, dad, a professional driver, was entertaining enough to keep the drive less boring.  Also, mom read to us.  I believe it was “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” for one of the earlier trips.  Once, when we were a little older, she read “Amityville Horror.”  That was a wildy popular book back then on the power of its claim “Based on a True Story.”

 

There were a lot of books “Based on a True Story,” but this was the first time I was aware that “Based on a True Story” could also mean “Complete Bullshit.”

When mom read “Amityville Horror” to us on family vacation, we were old enough that we got a good laugh out of it.  We laughed at how stupid the Lutz’s were.  First for hanging around in a creepy house for as long as they did.  Then for claiming all that crap actually happened.

 

In the end, we had nothing but admiration for this brave family.  Willing to stick to their guns and swear that all that stuff really happened even though it was obviously garbage (probably what attracted all the flies).  They deserved every cent they made off that book.

But I’m jumping ahead.  On the way to Colorado the first time, dad frequently boasted about his superhuman eyesight.  When we were still about 200 miles or so from Colorado, he asked us if we could see the mountains.  We thought we could and he asked us to point them out.

“Over there on the left, I think I see one,” I said.  Steve agreed, “Yeah, I see it too.”

“Sorry boys, those are just distant clouds.  When you see the mountains, you’ll know it.  I see them right now because I have super-vision.  In fact, I can see the Colorado sign at the border.”

“There’s no sign,” we argued.

“Well, you can’t see it yet because you don’t have super-vision, but it says 'Welcome to Colorful Colorado'.  You’ll see when we get there in about 3 hours.”

He could tell we didn’t believe him so he said, “I’ll tell you what.  I can prove it.  You point out any car on the road and I’ll read the state name and motto printed on the license plate.  I know when you’ll be able to read it, so I’ll read it to you way before then to prove to you I have super-vision.”

Now dad's day job was truck driver so he knew by color or design all of the different state license plates.  He knew all of the mottoes too.  But we didn't know that.  We ended up just thinking he had super-vision.

It was amazing.  While each license plate was still a blur to us, he’d call out “Oklahoma is O.K.” or “Missouri, the show-me state.”

Once he had proved he had super-vision, he told us this joke:

So there was this guy who moved to Missouri.  He didn’t yet know that Missouri was the show-me state.  One day he went into the grocery store to get some dog food.  At the check-out counter, the clerk asked him why he needed dog food.  He thought that the clerk must be an idiot, but he told the guy he needed the dog food for his dog.  The clerk didn’t believe the guy had a dog and refused to sell the dog food to him.  He said, “If you really have a dog, ‘Show me.’ ”

So the man had to go back home and get his dog to show the clerk who then happily sold the dog food and wished the man a nice day.

The next day, the guy realized he’d forgotten to get cat food for his cat.  The same stuff from above happened (but with a cat).  "If you have a cat, 'show me.' "  

The guy began to suspect that these people in Missouri don’t believe anything without some sort of visual evidence.  

So a few days later he trudged into the grocery store holding a brown paper bag, stained dark and dripping.  He set the sloppy mess down on the counter along with some toilet paper and Pepto-Bismol.

I'm pretty sure that was the end of the joke, but I want to add the following:

The clerk looked down at the soiled counter, swallowing hard against the torrent rising from deep within his bowels.  As the clerk regained control of the internal storm, the sweat forming on his brow was replaced by a wan smile that crossed his face.  Finally, the clerk's composure returned.  He slapped the newcomer on the back and shouted, "Welcome to Missouri, son!"

Then we saw the mountains and we knew it.  They are really quite majestic.  A little later we saw the sign:

Happy Friday and thanks for reading about diarrhea in a leaky paper bag!