A couple of our readers sent a news story about the winner of the 72nd Annual World Champion Liar Contest in Burlington, Wisconsin.
Champion liar Sandi Weld of Sorrento, Florida, said, “When I moved to Iron Mountain, Michigan, I brought my pet sheep. He grazed on the mineral-rich grass. When it came time to sheer it in the spring, I ended up with nine pounds of steel wool.”
God bless sincere amateurs. That’s a good lie, but it’s old news. Arizona woolgrowers have been shearing steel wool for more than a century.
The sheep ranchers traditionally drove large flocks of …
Continue reading “Pulling the Wool Over Your Ice“
by Mark Twain, excerpted Roughing It
[Webmaster Note: I stumbled upon this short passage while reading Roughing It and decided that it would make an excellent piece for wickenburg-az.com. It’s extremely amusing and, given the number of coyotes around town, it’s suitable. Note that throughtout the piece, I retained Twain’s spelling “cayote.” – ML]
Along about an hour after breakfast we saw the first prairie-dog villages, the first antelope, and the first wolf. If I remember rightly, this latter was the regular cayote (pronounced ky-o-te) of the farther deserts. And if it was, he was not a pretty creature or …
Continue reading “The Cayote“
I shouldn’t have said anything to old Billy about how to make the best green chili.
If he didn’t want to do it may way, let him go ahead and do it wrong. Every time we competed, life got complicated. That day, we made history.
It was the first chili cooking contest that Billy and I had heard about, and we both thought it was silly. Nevertheless, the Flotsam Flats Chamber Of Commerce had especially asked Billy and me to be contestants in their first-ever contest, and we didn’t want to be bad sports.
We figured everyone else would be …
Continue reading “How Green Was My Chili“
I’d like to get several things off my chest, including the bronchial congestion that has plagued me the last few days.
Breaking up is hard to do.
Maybe I need to move to Arizona and get well. Several friends have sent the story about the lunger from the East who came out to a Wickenburg dude ranch, hoping to improve his health.
Two weeks after he got here, he died. His brother visited him in the funeral home and said, “Why, old Cecil never looked better.”
Maybe I ought to go to Arizona to get warm. The basic reason for …
Continue reading “Getting It Off My Chest“