Running Down a Dream

So Fontavius is confused….what’s new? First off yesterday I hears Tom Petty is dead, and a great big cloud of sorrow and much respect comes over Fontavius. Then I hears he not dead, but on life support! WTH? Can’t they get get they story straight?
Then I hear he’s taken off life support. Then he’s fighting for his life. And then maybe he’s dead.  Maybe.  Honestly, were they trying to make a soap opereta out of this or what. What Fontavius wants to know is….is he dead or is he alive? Not a difficult answer. Yes or No….none of this maybe shit. To all the news organizations who jumped all over this and pronounced one Mr Tom Petty dead while he was still alive, shames on you. How do you think his mama felt upon hearing the news? Then getting a phone call from a relative….He’s not dead yet! Yeah, miracles of miracles!!! Oh wait a minute….he’s fighting for his life….rut-roh!!

I’m surprised not anymore people did not end up all messed up. Cause you know someone had to get fired from their job yesterday. You know some dude or dudette in the mid west upon hearing the initial news that TP had passed called in sick to their stomach. Then the boss finds out TP not dead. Oh boy. I can hear it all the way down to Kentucky……You’re fired!!!

We shouldn’t be passing around any fake news unless we knows for sure, as in yes or no sure, if people are really and trully dead. With one glaring exception. Keith Richards. That boy been dead for years and has just forgotten to keel over. Guaranteed and take this to the bank, when he finally keels over, you gonna have a bunch of people say…What? He was still alive? I thought he died years ago. Jest sayin’….


My dear frens,
Fontavius rites to you this mourning from the deps of despair. Joining me in my despair are Mrs Fontavius, Fontavial (Fontavius daughter from a first marriage), and her lovely daughter, Number Nine.  Apparently some biblacal wizard had predicted that this coming weekend was the weekend of the Rapture, when good soulds are taken up to be with the Lord in Heaven ™. Through analysis of the consternations, and other stars, he determined that this was the start of the 7 years of tribulation as predicted by the King James Bable. So if everything went according to plan, the good soulds got taken up to Heaven and the rest of humans were left behind to go through 7 years of Holy Hell ™ on this here earth.
Well, as you can plainly see from the writings this morning, it doesn’t take Nostradamus to figure out that Fontavius and family were not taken up to be with the Lord. Instead Fontavius will have to endure another 7 years of hell, working da land. I am deeply saddened by this. Now apparently all was not lost in Fontavius neighborhood as a coupla neighbors are missin’ and presumed to be with the Lord. Although Bobby Jo and Ella May do have a history of going off on three day benders, such does not appear to be the case here as they left behind some very good bottom shelf vodka on the kitchen table. Bobby Jo like his vodka low on the shelf as he tells it. Reaching down there, in no man’s land, helps him with his power squats he claims. What-ever.
How do I know they is missing? Well, in Fontavius disrepair yesterday, I ambled on over to check on some of the neighbors. I stopped by their place first, found no sign of them, ‘cept for the aforementioned Vodka and imitation Red Bull, before moving on. Cooter was home, screaming at the TV and the football players. Fred was rockin’ on his porch, as he mostly does now since the big stroke. You would think the Lord would have pity on folks like that and get them out of this misery. Seems to me they paid their dues and should be allowed to cut in line, as the kids say. Oh well…
Junebug was also screaming at the TV and having a little cookout outside. Don’t know why he starts a fire using perfectly good shirts. And these even had a number and name on them. Crazee. Then I knew the hole neighborhood was in trouble with the Lord when even Dandy Randy was still around, mowing his dirt, er, I mean grass, going round and round in circles, like some kind of NASCART driver or something. He’ll do that over and over and over again, all left turns, until it’s time to put more gas in the riding lawn mower. Then he’ll runs to the garage, gets a can of gasohol, then runs to the tractor, like he’s on fire or something. Hell, he even times himself on that fancy Casio watch of his, then resumes going round and round. Sware to God he must go around the house a coupla hundred times. No blade of grass stands any chance of ever growing to be 2 inches tall with Dandy Randy a round.
So here we are Monday morning, with the Tribulation in full swing, the chosen ones having a cold one with the Lord and reminiscing about the good times here, while Fontavius mopes around waiting for the big one. Back to workin’ da land, growing peppers and onions, and….what the heck is that??? OMG, it’s…can it be, can it really be….it’s Bobby Jo and Ella May, crawling outta da ditch. I can’t believe my eyes!!! Voted off the Island by the Lord. Rejected. Poor SOBs. I can almost hear the Lord now screaming like thunder….YOU’RE FIRED!!!!

I Hate Dogs

I hate dogs.  I had to say it, to finally get it out in the open.  Damn dogs!  Not a big fan of their sneaky behavior.  I’m onto them, they know it, and they are doubling down on the cuteness factor.  Yeah it’s a conspiracy alright, and I’m wearing my Dog Bone underwear instead of my tin foil hat!

I hate how they look at you with those big brown eyes, as if to say….I understand, please, tell me more.  Damn dogs are now acting like psychiatrists!  And, and, and I’m the one that’s supposed to be lying down! Just sayin’….

And how about when you go outside and come back in the house 10 minutes later and they greet you like a long lost brother?  It’s all an act, I tell ya.  They know how that’s gonna make us feel.  That wagging tail is just plain hypnotizing us, I’ll tell you that right now.

Or how about the little dance they do when you go by the dog food container…like they haven’t eaten in weeks.  If by weeks you mean minutes!

I just don’t like how they play us like a violin and then use those Jedi mind tricks to make us forget that we are being played.  How often do you hear…”Oh that’s a good boy…whatta good girl….good, good, good!” It’s like the word “good” is their power pill, their Red Bull, or something.

Oh, and don’t mention their name in casual conversation with friends or family, because then if you slip and do that….it’s feeding time!  Again!  And if one of you feeds the beast, they will surely do their little “I haven’t eaten in days” act when the next human comes by in 5 minutes!

And how about how they cozy up to you, put their heads on your lap, look at you with those big brown hypnotic eyes…and by some force of nature your hand automatically reaches down to scratch/pet them.  I’m telling you, they have us all figured out.  It’s like a Pavlonian reflex in reverse!  I’m the one that’s supposed to ring the bell and they come running for food, not the other way around!

Or how about when they lay down, right in the path of everyone in the kitchen hoping that someone trips and a food avalanche comes raining down in front of them?  Yeah, I’ve got it all figured out.  It’s a conspiracy, I tell ya.

I hate dogs.  The way they curl up in that one corner of your heart, right next to the beat machine.  And when they get up to leave for the other side….how much it hurts.  I hate dogs.  Can’t wait to see who comes in to our lives next!


RIP Riigel, hope you come back as a wolf!

Mind Blown

So, my dear frens, it’s been a whiles since Fontavius put pen to paper.  This years harvest has got Fontavius all twidipatted.  First it looked like the onion harvest was gonna be early, then the skies dried up, halting the onion harvest.  Then the tomato crop was looking to be late due to the late planting.  Well that didn’t disappoint….it’s late.  Then the okra plants seemed to be going absolutely nowhere, and now they has overtaken the garden.  It does keep the weed down though.  No, not that kind of weed.  I leave that kind of growing mischief to Jim Bob.  He swars it’s the best weed in Putnam county!  Grandpa would be laughing his butt off hearin’ someone braggin’ about growin’ good weeds!  But I digress…

So Fontavius got himself some books on tape to make the time go by as I’m pulling weeds, and making small talk with the crows.  I got one of the Sony Walkman, ‘cept it’s not a Sony brand, it’s a Emerson, and it’s not really a Walkman but a mini 8 track player, which I put in a backpack and play my books on tape.  And…..I don’t need to duct tape anything!  Amazing times we live in folks.  Amazing times indeed.  So anywho, I get myself to the library and get me some books on tapes from the dustbin area downstairs that they call an “archive”.  Now Fontavius well aware of what a chive is.  A flavorful member of the onion family…delicious fresh or dried in soups, stir fry, and Nachos.  And if Fontavius wants to be playin’ a prank on Jim Bob, I put a little chive in his stash! Not his mustache, but you knew what I meant, and don’t tell me your mind didn’t go there right away.  But I digress…  So this dustbin area, in a place called the Chive section…is where Fontavius finds himself all kinds of good books.  This time was no exception.  Books get Fontavius to thinking, and I been thinking so much after reading the last two book that I haven’t listened to any other books in over a month!

So the first book I listen to on this last go around was a book titled, “Sybil”…it’s about a girl with 16 different personalities!  From artist, to scolding mother, to carpenter, etc.  Amazing book.  She talks to her doctor, then one of the personalities intrudes and commences to bitch out the doctor and Sybil!  It’s like a self contained soap opera with all the drama!!!  And all this time Fontavius thought I was the only one talking to hisself!!!  Wooo-heee!  Kindred spirits!

Then, still all excited to have heard about Sibyl, the next book that Fontavius hears is “He is Her” and is about a man who identifies as a woman.  But not just him.  They talks about all kinds of scenario like a woman who identifies herself as a man, a woman who identifies herself as a cat (I never knew that could be for reals!), a man who identifies as “neutral”, not a man or a woman, sort of like David Bowie, The Early Years.  Then there’s the boy who identifies hisself in the plural, as in “they like macaroni and sardines”…”they” being Bobbie Joe.  Fontavius got hisself so confused that I had to rewind that part.  Of course it didn’t help that I was also chasing the crows barefoot in the field. Damn crows.

So this whole trilogy of books got Fontavius mind fermenting.  And I came to understand what Fontavius mind is all about!  I’m like 3 people locked up in one body!!!  So it’s sort of like Sybil, but not like a football team full of Sybil’s, just 3 of Fontavius…, myself and I. What a revolution in Fontavius mind!!  His, himself, hisself!  See how that works?  Wonderations will never cease.  So, though Fontavius is of one gender, a member of the Johnson family, Fontavius can identify as 3 different Fontaviuses! Or is it 3 Fontavi-eye?  I never took latin, except that one time when the judge said something about modus operandi and corpus delecti, but that’s another story from a long ago time.  Me, myself, and I! His, himself, hisself!  Wow!  And just like that, Pooof….mind blown!

Fontavius Handy Apology Template

Dear frens,

Have you ever found yourself in a pickles? I mean a real tight spot.  You know the ones.  Your mouth spews out sumpthing and your brain goes into immediate Def Con 4 mode.  And you try to add a little Hahaha at the end, but it’s too late…  Well Fontavius sitting down here in the corner of his man cave, the only corner the man cave has by the way, and boy is it dark and dank down here this summer….but I digress…. Fontavius has come up with the perfect Apology Template ™ for all you solds out there wishing you could turn back the clock and not say or write what you did after those 6 gin and tonics (top shelf of course!).  Simply fill in the blank, save and prints and you have a ready-made apology, press releases, or just plain copy and paste to Faceplant material.

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Chicken Spray?!?

Now frens, its been a while since ole Fontavius put pencil to paper to wrate a few words of wisdom. Been workin’ da land.  That’s ma story and I’m sticking to it. This years crop of rocks and stones was mighty impressive.  The garlic and okra is doing real good, but the pineapples did not come up, again, this year.  Try as I might, I just can’t seem to start the pineapple off.  I buy the best, Dole’s, the big chunks in a sugar sauce, and just like my wife’s 2nd cousin from a deevorced aunt showed me, I put a chunk of pineapple every 12 inches in a long row, but nothing ever comes up.  He even watched me do it last year and he filmed it.  He said it was for educashin purposes, but he was laughing the whole time he was filming.  I hopes he can dub in some other sounds instead of his constant chuckling and cackling about a hillbilly and planting and canned and pineapple!

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The Hemorrhoid Fad

My dear frens. It has come to Fontavius attention that some folks be putting needles in their arms again. Oooooo, I shudder at the thought of needles.  Not a big fan of them, whether they be sewin’, knittin’ or injectin’.  Fontavius would rather take himself a little pill then a bonafide injection, and even then, pills should only be for the really sick people or the mentally infirm.  Now, I realize that last category prolly includes a lot of Fontavius frens and maybe even Fontavius at times, but it’s usually temporary and eventually the voices go away, specially if you win the argument against them.  But back to the Opioid Fad for a minute.

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