Favorite

Mrs. Observer and the 'F**k me? No, f**k you, B*tch!' shirt 

If you haven't already, you should read the March 30 Arkansas Times piece on Keith Richards and the brief time he spent detained at city hall in Fordyce. We thought it was a particularly good read. And you know what? If you don't have a copy, you can read it for free on the website.

If you live in Fordyce, however, and you don't own a computer, you can get one for about $5 at a local gas station. That's right, a Fordyce-based gas station operator, we've been told, came up to Little Rock a couple weeks ago and spotted the brightly colored stack of papers with Richards' picture on the cover and the headline: "Rolling Through Fordyce." An idea popped into this man's head: "I could take these free papers — as many as I can hold — and sell them for a handsome profit — probably somewhere around a 500 percent profit." 500 percent of zero is zero, but you get the drift.

To him this sounded like a pretty good idea and we can't blame him. In fact, we don't begrudge the gas merchant at all. Times is tough.


Spouse was in Wal-Mart getting groceries the other day when she spotted her: a woman wearing a T-shirt that said, right there on the front, plain as day: "F**k me? No, f**k you, B*tch!" The only difference was her version came without those pesky asterisks we just inserted to keep the schoolmarms and children from being offended.

When we asked Spouse why she didn't snap a photo of the woman so we could send it to our favorite website, www.peopleofwalmart.com, she considered a second, then replied with the characteristic grace and good sense we love her for.

"Would you sneak up and take a picture of a woman who'd wear a shirt like that in public?" she said.

Point taken. She always was the smart one in this outfit.


The Observer has argued with our GPS before, and we've always been wrong. But on a recent Sunday afternoon we learned that the system doesn't know Des Arc that well.

We were looking for a minnow pond. The GPS took us down the highway and finally announced, "You have arrived at your destination!" But we were looking at a small frame house, with a yard so gussied up you knew its owners had lived there a long time. It had a wooden Methodist church insignia planted near the driveway. It did not, in other words, look like a minnow pond.

We knocked on the door, because we figured maybe these folks had something to do with the minnow pond. And thus ensues the kind of conversation that people who like to look at birds will find themselves in.

Hello, I'm looking for Saul's Minnow Ponds. "What?" says the nice older gentleman who has just let a perfect stranger, The Observer, into his kitchen. His wife is there, with her vacuum cleaner half-cocked, the soul of patience. Saul's Minnow Ponds, we shout. We're here to see a long-tailed duck. "A what?" says the older man. His wife is rolling her eyes. "They own lots of minnow ponds around here," the man shouts back. I want the main place, I say, by the big plastic horse. That's what the directions say. "Horses? His horses are down the road," the older man says. His wife says she thinks there's a big plastic horse in the Sauls' yard, and the minnow ponds we seek are in back of the house. It's just down the road, and turn left.

There's a rare duck there, we explain again, hoping that will excuse our interruption on a Sunday afternoon, an Oldsquaw, but now it's called a long-tailed duck. She gives us a funny glance and says, good luck. We gave the GPS a funny look, too.

The Observer finally got around to doing a little yard work over the weekend, the warm spring sun beating on our back as we raked out the flower beds (and, OK, the drift of leaves by the back fence that we meant to get to last October), dug a few holes, and lopped off a few pesky overhanging branches that we've been meaning to get after for awhile now. The result: A better looking estate around The Observatory, aching arms, and four pencil-eraser-sized blisters — one on each thumb, and another at the base of each index finger. We've gotta remember to buy some gloves before we get up to yard work again. Either that, or we need to hit the lottery so we can afford to hire somebody who hasn't herded a desk for nine years. We fear our hands (not to mention our body) have grown too soft and fine-boned for an honest day's work.

Favorite

Comments

Showing 1-1 of 1

Add a comment

 
Subscribe to this thread:
Showing 1-1 of 1

Add a comment

Readers also liked…

  • I'm sorry

    I'm sorry we stood by while your generation's hope was smothered by $1.3 trillion in student loan debt, just because you were trying to educate yourselves enough to avoid falling for the snake oil and big talk of a fascist.
    • Nov 17, 2016
  • Addendum

    he Observer has our regrets, just like everybody else. For example: last week, Yours Truly published a cover story on the increasingly ugly fight over Eureka Springs' Ordinance 2223, which is designed to protect a bunch of groups — including LGBTQ people — from discrimination in housing, employment, accommodations, cake buying, browsing, drinking, gut stuffery, knickknack purchasing, general cavorting, funny postcard mailing and all the other stuff one tends to get up to in the weirdest, friendliest, most magical little town in the Ozarks.
    • Apr 30, 2015
  • Snake stories

    The Observer's boss, Uncle Alan, is something of a gentleman farmer on his spread up in Cabot, growing heirloom tomatoes and watermelons and crops of chiggers on property that looks like the perfect farmstead Lenny and George often fantasized about in "Of Mice and Men."
    • Aug 27, 2015

Most Shared

  • World leaders set to meet in Little Rock on resource access and sustainable development

    Next week a series of meetings on the use of technology to tackle global problems will be held in Little Rock by Club de Madrid — a coalition of more than 100 former democratic former presidents and prime ministers from around the world — and the P80 Group, a coalition of large public pension and sovereign wealth funds founded by Prince Charles to combat climate change. The conference will discuss deploying existing technologies to increase access to food, water, energy, clean environment, and medical care.
  • Tomb to table: a Christmas feast offered by the residents of Mount Holly and other folk

    Plus, recipes from the Times staff.
  • Fake news

    So fed up was young Edgar Welch of Salisbury, N.C., that Hillary Clinton was getting away with running a child-sex ring that he grabbed a couple of guns last Sunday, drove 360 miles to the Comet Ping Pong pizzeria in Washington, D.C., where Clinton was supposed to be holding the kids as sex slaves, and fired his AR-15 into the floor to clear the joint of pizza cravers and conduct his own investigation of the pedophilia syndicate of the former first lady, U.S. senator and secretary of state.
  • Reality TV prez

    There is almost nothing real about "reality TV." All but the dullest viewers understand that the dramatic twists and turns on shows like "The Bachelor" or "Celebrity Apprentice" are scripted in advance. More or less like professional wrestling, Donald Trump's previous claim to fame.
  • Arkansas archeologist does his job, is asked to leave

    Amid Department of Arkansas Heritage project.

Latest in The Observer

  • The sweet hereafter

    This week, the Arkansas Times falls back on that oldest of old chestnuts: a recipe issue. Being who we are, of course, we had to put a twist on that; namely, the fact that most of the recipes you'll find in these pages are courtesy of people who have shuffled off to that great kitchen in the sky, where the Good Lord is always whipping up new things in his toque and apron, running the great mixers of genetics and time, maybe presenting the batter-dipped beaters and bowls to Jesus for a lick down.
    • Dec 8, 2016
  • Writers blocked

    OK, back to basics, Observer. Get hold of yourself. Give the people what they want, which is escapism! If you don't, this column is eventually just going to devolve into The Prophecies of Hickstradamus at some point in the next four years: "The Orange Vulture perches in the fig tree. The great snake eats Moonpies and Royal Crown Cola by starlight ..." That kind of thing. Nobody likes that. Too much deciphering and such.
    • Dec 1, 2016
  • Cassandra

    The Observer's grandfather on our mother's side was a crackerjack fella. Grew up in the sandy hills north of Conway. County boy, through and through. During hog-killing time in December 1941, the story in our family goes, when word of Pearl Harbor reached his little community, he and his friends loaded into his T-model truck and made the rough journey to the first speck of civilization that included an Army recruiting office, where they all enlisted.
    • Nov 24, 2016
  • More »

Visit Arkansas

View Trumpeter Swans in Heber Springs

View Trumpeter Swans in Heber Springs

Magness Lake, in Heber Springs, is a magnet for swans

Event Calendar

« »

December

S M T W T F S
  1 2 3
4 5 6 7 8 9 10
11 12 13 14 15 16 17
18 19 20 21 22 23 24
25 26 27 28 29 30 31

Most Viewed

Most Recent Comments

 

© 2016 Arkansas Times | 201 East Markham, Suite 200, Little Rock, AR 72201
Powered by Foundation