Tuesday, September 6, 2011


Jazell lives over on Lotus Street.  Gossip is that she's had plastic surgery several times.  Nobody knows for sure.  But she never seems to age.  Even with all those late nights she keeps.  She does have a busy social life,  and so many men friends.  Jazell says she just loves them all,  Church Ladies say she's a hussy.

One thing everybody agrees on,  she does have a good time.  Last summer she flew off to one of them places that's got beaches and those palm trees. Can't remember the name,  but she's been every where, and always with a different man.  She's real popular.  Why,  the mailman delivers at least a dozen letters and cards everyday. (he's one of her greatest admirers)

She usually gets flowers or candy at least once a day. Before she goes out at night, (she goes out every night),  you can see her through her bedroom window sitting in the middle of her four poster canopy bed,  reading all those love letters she got that day.

Did I tell you how she decorated her house?  You're gonna love this.  The bed is done in a deep red satin.  Jazell says it's so inspirational.  When the whole town kept gossiping' bout her,  she redid the windows too.  You guessed it.  She had large plate glass windows put in every room.  Now maybe they'll get the facts straight.

She not only does her own decoratin',  she designs her own clothes.  Needless to say,  she's a multi talented girl.  She just couldn't find clothes to do her justice,  or show off her legs.  All the men tell her she has such wonderful legs.... which she does.

Jazell is not as bad as everybody says.  She can't help it if every man that lays eyes on her,  falls instantly in love.  She tries not to encourage them,  but she can't help bein'  so gorgeous.  And besides,  she's just a naturally friendly person.

© 1989 to 2011 PJ Hornberger

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Ms. Louvenia

Ms. Louvenia lives in the big ol' yellow house that sits back off the road.  She's been livin' there all her life.  Her folks passed on, but don't be feellin' sorry for her.  She takes care of herself, she's got herself a job. 

 She's a Professional Mourner.  The way that come about was people thought she did such a fine job when her dog died, (everybody knows how she hated that dog). So first one asked, then another.  Pretty soon she had her own little business,  which has grown by leaps and bounds.

She may have to hire somebody to answer the phone. She even has business cards. They're real inspirational. Black back ground with silver lettering. She designed them herself.  This business was meant to be. Besides, she always did think she looked good in black.

Now she works funerals as far away as Gopher Run.  As you can tell, she's definitely in demand. She'll do any funeral, but she does her best work if she knows a little somethin'  sad about the family. Doesn't have to be much, just enough to get her inspired.

For backup, she carries a little book of Sad Stories.  She's on Volume II, wore out the first one. If she's havin' trouble gettin' the right mood of the funeral, she just reads a few pages for inspiration.  Every little bit helps.

And she does like to give them their money's worth.  I know you're dying to know what she charges.  Well, that depends on whether the family wants her to wear all black, sit on the front row, and how loud they want her to mourn.  She tries to be fair,  but her clothes are not cheap. She tries not to strain her voice.  Why she may have to work two funerals in one day.

She's a busy person.  She likes to visit the hospital at least once a week to hand out business cards.  You never know who will be needing her.  She has to take care of her career.  Here, take her card.  You just never know when you'll be needin' her services....

© 1989 to 2011 PJ Hornberger

Saturday, August 20, 2011



Paw was the kind of grandpa that was mean one minute,  then he'd go and do something nice.  So you always had to watch him real close.  Cause you never knew when the tide would turn.  He loved to come to my Mother's house and drive her crazy,  then make Daddy take him home.   Wasn't that he didn't like his daughter-in-law.  Oh, he liked her.  He just had this need to get somethin' started.  Then he was happy.
Like that little black book.  He carried it in his pocket always.  Seemed he kept real important stuff in it.  He'd never let me see what was written,  but he'd darn sure read it to me.
It was the ice cream truck.  I loved ice cream off of that truck.  I could hear that bell 2 or 3 streets off.  If Paw was there,  I'd go straight to him.  Begging,  couldn't be still.  Oh, please... gimme a dime,  just a dime. Can I have a dime.  He'd of course  pretend he didn't hear me at first.
I could hear that bell getting closer.  Those black asphalt streets would be hotter than hot coals on your feet.  Shoes?  Nope,  not in the summer time.  Not unless somebody died.  It seemed like that man was going to ring that bell right off the truck. I'd swear he was ringing it faster and faster.
At the same time listening to the bell,  I'd be beggin' Paw.  Oh, please, oh, please gimmee a dime.  Slowly,  ever so slowly he'd pull out that little black book.
"Let's see here now.  Says here you didn't pay me back for that last dime I give you.  Says that right here."   That's when I'd start testifying how I was gonna pay back every dime and more if he'd just give me one dime right now.  Oh,  Lord that ice cream truck is on my street,  which was paved.  But when he passed my house, he'd be turnin' onto one of those black top streets.  Those could blister your feet if you didn't keep movin'.
By the time that truck had gotten even with my house,  Paw was reaching into his pocket for that dime.  I just knew it was gonna be a dime.  Had to be.  But he was so slow.  That truck was 3 houses past my house when I ripped that dime outta his hand and started runnin'.
I was movin' fast.  Get outta my way,  get outta my way.  The truck was almost to the corner.  Oh, Lord let him have a flat tire.  I was runnin' faster than I thought was possible.  He hesitated for just a minute,  trying to decide which way to turn.  But I just knew it was cause he heard me screamin'  as loud as I could... "STOP".
By the time I slid into the side of that truck.... I couldn't speak.  I had a painful catch in my side,  sweat running in my eyes,  my voice gone.  Musta been the screamin'.  So I described, with my hands,  a drumstick with nuts on top as best I could.  That guy held up stuff until he got to the right one.
It was so cold it hurt my front teeth biting into it.  It was the best one ever. All that chocolate crust on top and nuts spilling every where.  Pure Heaven
When I'd drag myself back to the house,  there'd be nothing said between me and Paw.  We always knew there'd be a next time.  Another day,  another dime... maybe.
Oh, how I loved that ol'man.  He was a stinker,  but he loved me,  and I knew it.

PJ Hornberger 2011©  Carmine, Texas