Here in Ohio we take great, nay…… giddy pleasure in the fine sport of cow-tipping.

Sadly, cow-tipping has become an addiction for many Ohioans. Such folks can be found wandering aimlessly about from farm to farm, tipping cows until they’re spent and exhausted. They are usually found fast asleep amoung the cow piles by a very angry farmer the next morning.

Don’t misunderstand. Ohio takes full responsibility for their cow-tipping addict citizens. We hold meetings at the local churches and everything. But a’course nobody ever shows up cuz they’re mostly out tippin cows during the hours of 9 pm to 4 am.















But enough about the down sides of cow-tipping. Let us move on to your cow-tipping lesson!
My word! I am excited for you!
First I advise you start with a hearty meal. Cow-tipping requires stamia!
Don a decent pair of sneakers on the off chance that the farmer is still awake and has his gun loaded.
Then begin your search for the perfect cow.

Ahhhh. Here’s a good one. The single-udder cow. Single udder cows are meaner than chicken spit! That’s what makes ‘em so damned fun to tip.













Real quiet like, ya gotta ….tippy-toe…..tippy tippy tippy tippy ….up on the big booger. And fer the sake of all that is good in this world, don’t fart or nuthin’. They don’t like that. They don’t like it a lot.













Once your close enough, shoulder up to her, dig yer feet into the dirt real deep like, and PUUUUSSSSSH! PUSH!

If she turns her head, even a little, that means you probably farted and didn’t notice in all the excitement. But the one-udder cow, she did. And she’s pissed.














Occasionally, these things go awry. When this happens, it’ll generally take ya a month or so before you can put yer crutches back in the pantry. But HEY! That’s what makes it a sport! Am I right? Or am I right? Wouldn’t be no fun if there wasn’t some kinda risk.

Kin somebody call the ambulence? In the fall my cell phone got lodged up my……… er……..it’s stuck where I can’t get to it right now. Ah, hell, now it’s ringin.

Manny started it! Now it's officially a "show my arse" HNT day.

Anybody else feel like showing their arse?








PS. Tomorrow I shall be giving a cow-tipping seminar. Do come. It's very educational.

Those who were there that fateful day will tell you, it was her own fault. After countless jello shots Tumbleweed sucking on a breath mint, went to the captain, her shirt opened coyly, and convinced him to allow her to drive the ship.

(yeah. I know ya don't drive a ship but I can't spell the other word and I don't wanna look it up. I'm busy!)

where was I?

Oh yeah. The Captain, always a sucker for a heaving bossom handed over the driving wheel. (I KNOW IT'S NOT A DRIVING WHEEL, LEMME ALONE ALREADY)

Where was I?

Oh yeah.

Giggling, tumble turned the wheel this way and that, knocking deck hands overboard, shifting toupee's askew, and causing old ladies to curse like sailors whilst trying to retrive their partial dental plates outa their dinner. It was madness, I tell ya!

The ship went down at approximately 11:43 pm. Most of the crew and passengers were rescued but Tumble, tumbled offa the deck into the water and was carried far, far, away.

Happily she was rescued. She woke up, days later in a hospital, horny as hell. (jello shots always had that effect on Tumble.) It took her eyes a while to focus. When they did, she began to pull her hair out by the bunches. PYGMIES! Bitty little men with bitty little......... NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! NOT THAT! ANYTHING BUT THAT!

She's there still far as I know. Oh sure, I could have sent help. Should have really, since I'm the only one who knows where she is. But, I lost something that night. And until I get over the heartbreak of my loss, Tumble shall be stuck forever in Pygmy hell. Where the island song is, (sung to the tune of Tiny Bubbles.) Tiny peckers, in my pants. Makes me loney. Makes me sad.

You see, I had gone the extra mile that night. That's right. I got sprinkles on my ice cream cone. And thanks to Tumble's lousey, stinking, driving ............ they ........slid ....... OFF!

Ok, people. I ask you. Was this my fault?
The dog is not talking to me. She refuses to even look at me. Why? Because of a little accident that could have happened to anybody.

On Sunday our son-in-law came over to cook out for Bob's father's day gift. (Bob loves cookouts)

Meanwhile, I bought one of those shock collars for Lucy. Just to keep her from falling off the cliff into the ravine. It was thoughtful of me to do it!

Lucy had been pretty much hiding out in her crate all day, holding her urine. All 4 grandkids were here in the pool and they get kind of loud. The doors were open she just chose not to be out there where the action was for whatever reason. Finally I made her come out so she could relieve herself.

I accidentally (anybody could have done it) left the remote control to the shock collar on the table outside. She ran over in the grass to pee and next thing I knew she was hopping up and down on all fours like a jack-rabbit on speed, yelping and whimpering. I stood there for a second scratching my head. Then I turned around and saw that Eli had picked up the remote and was punching the shock button over and over tryin to figure out what it operated.

I have apologized. I have tried to give her treats. I've done everything I can to make it up to her but she's determined to lay around and feel sorry for herself. whatEVER!

In a couple of weeks, I'm gonna be 55. You realize this means I can now order off the Senior's menu at Bob Evans.

Frankly I am amazed and astounded I survived this long. I have not been the most careful of humans. In fact, some folks consider me a walking disaster. LOL! I've been caught in hotel sprinklers, knocked down store mannequins, tripped over a barrel (that's right one of the big barrels) of peanuts, lost control of a power tool and fell out of a tree. And that's just the junk my short term memory will allow me to remember.

Yet, here I stand. Almost 55. Not too concerned over life's valleys anymore. Live long enough ya pretty much get to a place where you say, "Well, hell. here we go again." And then you just roll right through.

Anyway Tumble began the idea on her board, then Barman reminded me accidentally. I thought then and now pics might be appropriate considering. Anybody else want to play? Cause I'd love to see your pics.

Me at 5. last at the table till the day I die, people. Count on it.














Me at 16. I can NOT believe I was wearing pink. GAK! What a priss!


















Me at 49. The year I straddled the hotel sprinkler at 2am and the damn thing went off.













And now. Tickled purple cuz I get to eat cheaper at Bob Evans!
(btw. they have excellent deserts!)


































The legs aren't so good anymore but, I still have two of them! What else do ya need?

I can't believe I was that dumb. We lived on a very busy street back then. That was me, butt to the street doing yard work in a pair of short, shorts.

Well at least by that time I had finished with playing on railroad tracks. I actually do get smarter each year. Not lots but by the time I die, I'll be up to normal I bet.

HELP! I can't find my ducks! I dunno what happened. They were just outside playing with Tumbleweed a minute ago.

It's not like Zeke to just up and disappear before his daily doughnut fix.

I can't imagine where they've gone.

I've looked every.......

TUMBLE! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Looking back, I can't help but feel ...... I don't know .... somehow .... responsible.

Even at an early age, Milkmaid would refuse to eat her peas and would cry and cry until she had that Spam by-product gripped in her little fist. She'd rub it all over her face and giggle with delight.

But....I implore you....how could I have known she'd become a grown woman one day who would do postively anything for Spam? A spam whore, if you will. How? How?

Was I wrong? Should I have denied her even then?

Oh the shame! The guilt!

























Note: Crabcake will be out of town until Milkmaid cools off. Er....I mean .... Crabcake is out on emergancy business.

After a leisurely nap, pool side, Zeke and Zekette enjoy a lovely dip in Bob's swimming pool, followed by frenzied love making and a relaxing meal of pool flotsam.































Then ....... Disaster strikes. Bob is coming! ZEKE! ZEKETTE! RUN! RUN LIKE THE WIND! FAST FEETS!
















Oh no. Zeke, I told you not to eat that last doughnut! Suck your stomach in man! For the love of Pete, somebody give Zeke a push. Get some vaseline. DO SOMETHING!

















Unable to fit his Buddah-like belly beneath the gate, Zeke flew over the wall, barely making it past the top.

Meanwhile back in the yard, Bob's sneakered foot lands in a massive pile of duck poop. No good can come from this. And yet............

Have a great Father's Day guys! Play, eat, flip buttons on the remote, play some more.

shhhh. I've been harboring a couple of fugitives.
Bob told me under NO CIRCUMSTANCES are ducks or geese allowed to swim in the pool.

For the past couple of weeks, I have inadvertantly been feeding the ducks, Zeek and Zeekette. Naturally I warned them never to come around when they see or hear Bob.

Sadly, the other day we were outside on the deck when all of a sudden Bob says, "Do you hear quacking?"

"Ugh. nnno. no. I don't hear anything."

Quack ........ quack........QUACK QUACK QUACK QUACK QUACK!

"You don't hear that?"
"nuh ugh. You know what, Bob? I bet you're getting a sinus infection or something. That can make you hear quacking."

"OMG! do you have another duck?"

"No! where would I get a duck?"

quack quack quack quack.

Inwardly I prayed....please stay out front. Do not come back here and get me busted.

"Damn it! That's a duck!"

"Well do you SEE a duck?"

"I don't see it. But I damn well hear it. And I know you're behind it."

That was two days ago and he still hasn't seen them. WOOT! WHO DA QUEEN? HUH? HUH?


































I thought y'all might like to see fer yerself how danged hard me and milky work around here.
Note that all Milky does is stand there with her stick in the pot whilst I'm scrubbin my arse off at the other tub.
But that's ok cause, I got into my old fried pc from back in the Friday's World days and found Milky's very favorite pic I ever did of her. ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ha ha ha ha ha!
I'll post it Monday, if she doesn't have me kilt first.

As remodel construction moves along and I continue to sweat and grunt like a rutting pig, it occurs to me that working this hard on house deserves a little somethin somethin. So I have decided to give the old Crabby estate a name.

Any suggestions?

Also, is anyone interested in before and after pics? Or would that bore you guys into banging your heads against the wall until you passed out? Because I can always do before and afters on another board. That way you have a choice.



Public Service Announcement #1: when working construction which requires heavy tool belts always remember to apply suntan lotion to your buttcrack. It has recently come to my attention that a sunburnt buttcrack can be most painful and annoying.

Sign Gurl is in serious need of luvin from us so c'mon! Hand over the love and hugs. Cause she's one terrific, funny, cool mamma.

Oh and PS. Sign I was lookin for sweet hearts and junk to post with these words but this pic came up and me being me.....well ............................ it's just so cool.

Sorry, I'll find a cuddly teddy too. Unless the image search pulls up roadkill or something equally irresistable to my damaged brain cells.

Only a rare few have what it takes to wear the headress of the Coyote. I .... am one of those few.

That's right. I have become an official member of the Coyote Construction tribe.

Yesteday I breathed in deep of wood dust, sweat, cleaning fluids and polyerthane. Doesn't matter if I can spell it cause I'm one mean
sumbitch now.

I have dug ditches, waded thru muck and fish shit. I can spit tobaccy without ever havin chewed it. I can toss back a brew in one swalla and not throw it back up.

I ain't no mere suburban house pussy. I grunt. I belch. I fart. I....... am Coyote worthy. And I have donned the pelt, right thar on my head. Heretoforth and fortwit.....I shall be known as, Crabby Jo Bob.

I am off now to have a dead oppossum tattoo'd on my right ass cheek. But I shall return poste haste to do heavy lifting, and work with many power tools.

Yeah, that's right. Bob got game. I know, because he showed me how it's done.
We go into Home Depot. Where we live at least part of the time these days. In an effort to show a young man how to impress a lady Bob asked me to get in line seperately so no one would know we were together. Then he proceeded to display his talents for the fella (who just happens to work there at the depot)

Bob approaches the little check out gal with his items. As she's ringing him up, he smiles all charming like, and asks ....... "Is that a prison tattoo on the back of your neck?"

"No!" She responds, shocked at the question. "It's my daughter's birth date, weight, and length."

Standing behind Bob in line, try as I might, I could not surpress a little snigger. Ok...ok. It was a full out belly-laugh.

Poor Bob.

Crabby INSISTS that I post this story about my weekend, cuz yanno, she can't be the only one lauging at my expense. She needs it shared LOL!

Last weekend was the big bike rally in Texas, The Republic of Texas (ROT) Rally. We go every year, it's a BLAST of a time and there just is no place in Texas like Austin, great roads, hills and lakes to ride and 6th street is over flowing with most excellent music and little bars to fill your cup with Jagermeister. Of which we did ... a bunch.

Later into the night after we'd visited the new Coyote Ugly (a fun place and I SURE wish I was the bitch that thought up THAT) and a few other fine establishments, we ended up at The Drink. After a certain amount of people squeeze in there neckbone to assbone, they open up their upstairs bar.

From our booth, we could see the red light glowing in the entry area that had the staircase to UPSTAIRS. Woo hoo..lets go. After a proper frisking from the doorman there, up the stairs we sprinted to be greeted with a fairly empty bar (thankfully for my pride) and the walls were pulsing with the DJs hand picked music. My pal, Robin, and I turned and looked at each other as we saw THE POLES.

Two dancing poles, on a slight stage area in the corner of the bar.

Calling our names.

Picture two slightly (ok ok ok) fairly drunk, wild Texas gals laughing across the dance floor and grabbing onto the stainless steel rods. I jumped up and grabbed on with both hands and wrapped my legs around the pole. At that VERY moment, my hands shook their drunk stupor and YELLED to my brain, GET YOUR FAT ASS DOWN, NOW YOU DUMBASS!

I think I sprained the two last fingers on my right hand and my thigh muscles will never recover, unless I promise to NEVER do that crap again.

To top it off, this was on Friday night, so I had to ride my bike the rest of the weekend, with a throbbing two fingers and hands and thigh muscles that cursed me evertime I put my feet down to hold my bike up.

All that and I never made one g'damn tip.

These are the pics Jake took of the waterfalls behind our house. It isn't directly behind us. So you can't see it from up here. You have to walk a little ways toward our neighbors house to see it. The first pic gives you a good idea of the drop off behind our house. I think where we are is a little steeper than this. Which is why I fret over the dogs wandering too far out on the ledge.

4 vultures perch in a tree over my yard. When they're not perching, they're circling. Why?

Cause I can't throw worth a crap!

Behind my deck is a small ledge next to a 40 to 60 foot drop off into a huge ravine. When I fish dead things outa the pool and pond, I try to flip them out over the greenery behind the deck through the trees into the ravine. Sadly, they NEVER make it that far.

Currently I have 4 dead chipmunks, 1 dead mouse, 2 dead moles, and several fishes, somewhere under the leafy junk behind the deck. There is another fish hanging from a tree off to the side of the deck. (I was testing a new technique. Increasing the Hummmph in my swing) Well, I hummphed it and the fish somehow got caught in the tree. Now it's just hanging there like some obscene Christmas ornament from hell.

A couple years ago I accidently tossed one backwards and it landed on our roof. I got "the talk" for that one. Took Bob forever to get the fish offa the roof. Took longer than forever for me to sit through "the talk".

I swear to you, I think these vultures get excited everytime they see me walk out the door. I'll video tape them. Otherwise you won't believe me. This is just pathetic.

I am so gonna work on a new flipping technique.

What happened to all my links?

Can anybody else see them? I can't see a dang thing. HelllLLLLOOO? Anybody out there?

You like us. You wanna touch us. You wanna kiss us. You wanna LUV on us. Go ahead babycakes. Have your way with us. That's right. We're naked. We're bad. We're eeeeasy.