Two facts:
*That picture is of Bev on a horse.
*I met someone today whose roommate has a chinchilla named Frances.
Life? It’s good.
-Bev
Browsing Category
F.A.F.
I dug up some pretty nice pics while at Smoke and MamaG’s in Mayberry, and I thought you, my lovely audience, might like to see just a few. The cool part of these pictures is that they all actually include Bev and an animal. Obviously, these pictures are all from the 80s and 90s, as Bev literally hasn’t touched or interacted with any animals since at least, like, 2003 (except that one time when I passed out while helping a group friends make some brownie desserts for another friend’s wedding, and they drunk posed me with the hostess’ dogs- I don’t count that). The other cool thing about these pictures if that the original photos are clear, but since Bev’s phone is a little banged up (see this post), it takes blurry pics when close up, so Bev can still keep her identity concealed. Paparazzi and all, ya know?
Anyway, I’m headed down to Aunt Zelda’s for coffee here in a few minutes, and I’m busy packing up my surely-over-50-pound suitcase, so here’s the first of three Bev-inspired-and-included Funny Animal Fridays (fitting that it’s Saturday):
That’s Bev on the rider mower. Casually driving Smoke and our dog around the yard in a wagon.
Yep.
-Bev
*I considered not posting Funny Animal Friday today, in light of all the… well… shit happening all over our country (and world), but then I thought… who doesn’t need a laugh? The world needs you, Bev. With that being said, if you are offended by people trying to be funny with such serious current events, you may want to stop reading and turn back to CNN. I get it. I’d also like to point out that what’s ahead probably isn’t even that funny, so maybe read on? Long story short: I wanted to post F.A.F. today, so I’m posting F.A.F. today. Sue me. If you can find me.
As you all know, Bev had family visiting for approximately a week, and then traveled back with said family for some quality time in Mayberry. While the family was visiting MyCity, we often took Maude’s van, as all of us (Smoke, MamaG, Maude, Jasper, Margaret, Norma, and me) can fit in one vehicle. I often drove, as we were in MyCity, and I knew where we were going. However, sometimes I drink this stuff called alcohol, and then Smoke and MamaG won’t let me drive. Maude and Jasper don’t enjoy a good cocktail as much as I do, so they sometimes drove. MamaG took the wheel a few times as well, and obviously, Margaret (9) and Norma (5) were out. Want to know who else was out? Ol’ Smokey G. As you know, city driving is not necessarily his jam. If you’d like him to take apart and put back together a large piece of machinery, he can and will. If you’d like him to fix/take apart/install a garbage disposal, dishwasher, etc., he can and will. You want him to drive to the MyCity Children’s Museum? You’re probably better off with Margaret or BevWithABuzz at the wheel.
Seriously, there was a time when I moved into a new apartment, and MamaG and I were headed to Ikea, and wanted to send Smoke to Target for a few items. I’ll never forget watching him drive off and wondering if that’s how parents feel when they send their first child to kindergarten. (I feel like you should know that getting from my house to Target literally requires two turns, getting back requires three, and he followed us there, so really only had to get himself home. I remember MamaG reminding him that he had a GPS in the car if he needed it, and I told him to find a cop if he got lost. True story. I would also have liked to have been a fly on the wall when he was in the laundry detergent aisle. Think walrus performing an appendectomy when you think of Smoke buying high-efficiency laundry detergent specifically for white/light clothing.)
Anyway, I’m rambling, and you’re wondering what in Christ’s name this all has to do with a funny animal. Well, here’s what this has to do with a funny animal:
That’s Smoke. Heading to Target.
Happy Friday, my lovely readers! Enjoy your weekend. Stay safe. Party on. All that jazz.
-Bev
I told y’all a few weeks ago that my Uncle Bart is basically dying to be featured here on BG (who isn’t?), and since I’m home with the family in Mayberry, I thought I’d give him his chance to shine. (this timing may or may not have something everything to do with buttering UB up so I can try to shoot the pool birds). Edited to add: so I can get more chances to shoot pool birds.
Notes for the story: Youngzee is Bart’s right hand man on the farm. Absolutely hilarious dude.
A ‘high school rock picker’ is something that sounds complicated, but really isn’t. It’s a high schooler that you hire to pick up rocks. In your fields. I used to be one. And by ‘used to be’, Smokey G still makes me do it sometimes. Like, MamaG asked me yesterday. Literally.
Without further ado, I present to you…. Uncle Bart (Part Deux)
Fishing For ‘Coon
Timmy and Keith’s new puppy, Louie, inexplicably turned up lame the other day. While Louie is recuperating, he is convalescing in their garage. This morning, Timmy went out to the barn where Louie had been residing until his illness, and was startled by a large raccoon. He hastily fled the scene, but called me on his way to work to tell me about his discovery. We made the assumption that Louie’s injuries were the result of a ‘coon mugging.
At noon, one of my high-school rock-pickers mentioned to me that I had a rabid ‘coon over at Timmy’s place. He further elaborated that he saw the (normally nocturnal) animal wandering around by the barn, so he grabbed a steel rod that was handy and bludgeoned the critter to death and threw him in the burn hole. While complimenting his assertiveness, I wondered to myself if rabies protocol had changed recently. The last time I could remember, checking for rabies involved taking the head of the dead animal to Nearby Veterinary College about an hour away from us here in Mayberry. I checked with our local vet, and sure enough, this is still the procedure.
So I roped Youngzee into helping me fish the dead ‘coon out of the twenty-foot-deep hole, which is full of water within a foot of the top, with a potato fork and a shovel. We then placed the soaking-wet carcass in a plastic bag, threw it in a cooler on ice, and sent Sue flying to Vet College to get the thing tested for rabies.
Youngzee and I decided that it was the first time in our lives that we had ever fished for raccoon. Furthermore, while we have both bagged our fair share of ‘coon, this is the first time that either of us could recall literally “bagging a ‘coon.” Hopefully, Louie fares better than Ol’ Yeller. Test results are expected on Monday.
I forgot to warn you guys about Uncle Bart’s inclination for sexual references. Sorry.
Update: The coon was negative for rabies, but I’m going to go ahead and guess he was positive for HIV. There seems to be a rise in the woodchuck population here in Mayberry, and they’re known as HIV-ridden raccoon rapists.
I made that up, but here’s hoping I get a chance to shoot a woodchuck in the next 17 days.
-Bev
This week wasn’t funny. This week still isn’t funny. This week will never really be funny.
But this picture? It’s funny.
–Beverly
Guys, between Uncle Bart’s F.A.F. and Bev’s Summer Kickoff Bender (that was a wild one, man), it’s been two weeks since you had a Bev F.A.F! Are you okay? I’m sorry. Really, I am. In order to make it up to you, I’m breaking out a big gun. One of the oldies, but goodies. One of my top five.
I don’t know why, but this one really trips my trigger. Probably because I always picture the fake mom as Kendra Wilkinson-Baskett.
For the life of me, I can’t decide a name for that feline, though. She is decidedly female (I mean, was this not all of us girls at sixteen? Sorry, MamaG), but I just can’t come up with a moniker for that little pussy. (I know Fawn, Jewel, and at least 90% of you are cringing at my use of the P-word. But the 10% of you that are laughing, you’re laughing hard)
Comment with your cat names! And happy freaking Friday!
-Beverly
You might remember my Uncle Bart. If you don’t, you can read about him here and here, and you do know that he is solely responsible for Spot Sue Saturday. You might also remember me calling him to action a few posts back…
Many readers already know UB, as I like to all him (a’la Macaulay in Uncle Buck), and if not, here’s a quick “fast facts” about Uncle Bart:
*Uncle Bart drinks tequila. This may seem normal enough until I tell you that he drinks it with Diet Coke. I know.
*Uncle Bart hails from the frozen tundra of the Midwest, and he still wears shorts at least 325 days a year. Usually, with high-tops. But sometimes with Croc flip-flops. Which is incredible.
*Once, after a wedding, UB made his son, Timmy put his socks on. Like, Timmy had to put UB’s socks on UB. If you know Timmy, ask him about this.
*At another wedding, our whole family had to leave early because UB passed out, and we had all driven together so we could drink. And drink, we did. Obviously. He also once went missing for three quarters of a football game because he “fell asleep” in the bathroom. Aunt Sue was ready to all the National Guard when he stumbled back to the tailgate thirty minutes after the rest of the crew. (In his defense, he very well could have been asleep. I suspect alcohol played a large factor in this nap, but Uncle Bart can literally fall asleep anytime, anywhere. It’s admirable, really.)
*He golfs with one club. Which is a two-way chipper.
*UB has a pool and he likes to sit next to it, shooting birds that fly over and shit in it. He has yet to give ol’ Bevvy Oakley a chance. *hint, hint, Bart*
*When UB doesn’t really wanna do something, he always says he would rather set his hair on fire. I have totally stolen this, and if you know me, you’ve definitely heard me say it.
*Probably my favorite UB story is when Sue was once trying to get him out of the house so they wouldn’t be late to some type of event (this is an at-least daily occurrence). The conversation went like this:
“Chop, chop, Bret.”
“Eat shit, Sue.”
*As evidenced by Spot Sue Saturday, Uncle Bart loves Snapchat. Exhibit A:
I mean, lots of people send Snapchats to alert you that they sent emails, right? I was really hoping he would text me to tell me Snapchatted me to tell me he emailed me, but I think he’s busy.
Without further ado, I present to you, the first guest post here on beverlygoldenstein.com… I present to you, Uncle Bart.
Notes: Liv in cousin Gertrude’s daughter, Bart’s granddaughter.
Two Fools Meet
We try to keep a couple of tame cats around the farm. We take them to the vet to have them neutered and give them shots to try to keep them healthy. The last pair of cats that we had were approximately 15 years old when they succumbed this winter. I thought it would be a fun time to take Liv along when we went looking for a new cat, (ostensibly to present to Sue for her birthday). A quick check for unwanted kittens located in the area was fruitless, so I decided I would take Liv to check out the local Humane Society and let her pick out a cat.
Having never visited the place, I was surprised to find a relatively new, large facility on the edge of Masonville. A half-dozen young ladies were manning the office. We asked if they had any cats available for “adoption”. The selection was extensive. There were nearly a hundred cats in the place; five or six rooms with ten to twenty cats in individual cages in each room. After perusing nearly every cat in the place, we made a decision to take one home with us. I related our intentions to one of the gals at the desk. She informed me that the “adoption fee” for said cat was $115, and handed me six pages of “adoption papers” full of questions that I needed to answer, I guess to ensure that I was worthy of entrusting with a $115 cat. Mind you – I am a farmer that has raised numerous dogs and cats and tens of thousands of farm animals in my career. I was less-than-amused to be vetted for the right to take a cat home with me.
Now I’m starting to get a little annoyed, but my inner monologue informs me that the cat is already neutered and inoculated, which will save me some hassle, and that the exorbitant adoption fee is going to a good cause. I decided to fill out the papers, pay the money, and make my now-fidgeting granddaughter happy. When I handed the papers in to the gal, I made the comment that I thought I could buy an AK-47 with less paperwork and possibly for less money. She was not amused. She then proceeded to go over my “application” with great intensity. She paused before she made it through the second page to ask me why I had responded “not applicable” to the section on litter box training. I explained that we lived on a farm, and that this animal would have several hundred acres on which to find a place to defecate. I could immediately tell that this was disturbing information. She informed me that they couldn’t possibly let a cat go to someone that wasn’t going to keep it in their house.
My annoyance evolved into outright indignation. I asked if she thought the dozens of cats in this building would be happier in their cages, or on a farm acreage. She refused to poll the animals to get their opinions.
I took Liv’s hand and headed calmly back to my pickup, my head ready to explode with indignation at being rejected for cat adoption. Oh, the shame of it all!
Anyway, the whole process made me think of one of Smoke’s wise sayings – “Two fools met that day.” I was willing to pay $115 for a god-damned cat, and she wouldn’t sell it to me.
I have to tell you, this story makes me laugh my ass off, and if you hear Bart tell it in person, I’m certain it’s littered with more profanity. He knows that we’re a family show here bg.com, so he kept it pretty PG. He also left out the part where he made the Humane Society “gals” give him his six pages of paperwork back so they couldn’t send him any promotional mail/emails.
I wonder if he’s now using an AK-47 to shoot the pool birds? Stay tuned.
-Beverly
And by ‘rain’ I obviously mean ‘white wine’ delay. Bev’s got happy hour plans, y’all, and this week’s F.A.F. isn’t ready. It’s a good one, though, as it includes Bev’s first guest post.
I also think I have some kind of bug/spider bite inside my ear, and if I don’t catch a buzz soon, I’m going to have a panic attack.
-BevNeedsABevMoreThanYouNeedFAF Goldenstein
Get it together, Mike. Jesus.
-Bev
My friend, Melva, gets into town this evening. We are not good influences on each other, and, well… just…
I don’t know who’s Walt and who’s Jesse, but here’s hoping we don’t end up running through New Mexican deserts in our whites.
-Bev
YouTube credit: muzzam83