Monday, March 31, 2008

The Hanly Sictionary

My golfing buddy Pete Hanly is a self-admitted lexicographical master of words and recently passed these along to me. I'll let him explain -- Dalton Hammond


I have my own sictionary which is derived by taking any word from the dictionary, altering it by adding, subtracting, or changing ONLY ONE letter, and supplying a new definition. Here are the examples:

1. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period of time.
2. Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an asshole.
3. Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.
4. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.
5. Bozone ( n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.
6. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.
7. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.
8. Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.
9. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.
10. Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)
11. Karmageddon: It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.
12. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.
13. Glibido: All talk and no action.
14. Dopeler Effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.
15. Arachnoleptic Fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.
16. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.
17. Caterpallor ( n.): The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating.

And there are better definitions currently not included in most dictionaries:

1. Coffee , n. The person upon whom one coughs.
2. Flabbergasted , adj. Appalled by discovering how much weight one has gained.
3. Abdicate , v. To give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.
4. Esplanade , v. To attempt an explanation while drunk.
5. Willy-nilly , n. anti-priapism or more simply, a limp dick.
6. Negligent , adj. Absentmindedly answering the door when wearing only a nightgown.
7. Lymph , v. To walk with a lisp.
8. Gargoyle , n. Olive-flavored mouthwash.
9. Flatulence , n. Emergency vehicle that picks up someone who has been run over by a steamroller.
10. Balderdash , n. A rapidly receding hairline.
11. Testicle , n. A humorous question on an exam.
12. Rectitude , n. The formal, dignified bearing adopted by proctologists.
13. Pokemon , n. A Rastafarian proctologist.
14. Oyster , n. A person who sprinkles his conversation with yiddishisms.
15. Frisbeetarianism , n. The belief that, after death, the soul flies up onto the roof and gets stuck there.
16. Circumvent , n. An opening in the front of boxer shorts worn by Jewish men.

©2008, Dr. P.N. Hanley

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

The Curse of Buck Mountain

Here's a North Carolina ghost story -- Dalton Hammond


Deep in the hills of western Wilkes County, North Carolina a legend still lives in local folklore, and summons questions which have never been answered to this day.

He was known only as Luther, and was said to be a direct descendant of Daniel Boone who lived a few mountains away in the town now called Boone. Luther called Buck Mountain his home and eked out his modest living as a trapper, trading his deer and bear hides, and pelts from mink and raccoon which lived in abundance on the mountain for flour, salt pork, and tobacco on his semiannual pilgrimages to Wilkesboro. During such visits he often astounded the villagers with his skillful bird and animal calls which he produced solely with his mouth and teeth. He developed a reputation for being able to reproduce the call of any bird or animal on the mountain and the locals looked forward to Luther's entertaining visits.

As settlers began to populate the valley below Buck Mountain they suffered frequent raids on their hen houses from packs of Timber Wolves that came down from the mountain. Even their precious bird dogs were sometimes killed or mauled by the predations. Eventually a bounty was declared on the wolves which Luther found to be an agreeable source of revenue.

On a fateful night in late October a valley settler was awakened by his house dogs who were barking excitedly at a disturbance outside the door of his cabin. Cocking his scattergun, he approached the door and squinted through the peephole. Outside lay Luther, on his side, his rudimentary clothing in rags and wicked bloody gashes streamed across his face. He appeared to be alone. The settler cautiously approached the prostrate body and carefully rolled him over onto his back. Luther was dying, but he opened his eyes which glistened in the moonlight, and croaked his last words which are still being retold:

That night Luther had found wolf tracks up on the mountain and followed them to a small natural cave which was hidden by a fallen tree stump. Inside the den he discovered a litter of eight young wolf pups, alone. Surely the mother and father were nearby, he reasoned. He parted the roots of the stump a bit more for a better look and his heart began to pound furiously at what he saw: Diamonds, dozens of them, were scattered about the floor of the den and he could see even more embedded in the walls of the cave. He picked one up, examined it for a moment in the moonlight, then placed it in his black powder pouch which hung around his neck. As he reached down for more he heard a ghastly bark which became a growl and he suddenly felt his leg being ripped to shreds. He had been found!

All at once there were wolves all around him and he flailed frantically at the nearest attackers with the butt of his rifle as he tried to work his way back down the mountain. Just as he was beginning to fear that he was lost a single wolf made a huge leap, gashing his face and neck, knocking him to the ground. Luther began to slide and roll helplessly down the slope and as he tumbled the growling and howls began to sound farther away.

When he came to a stop several hundred feet later, he realized that the wolves had remained at the den to protect the young. Luther groaned as he struggled to his feet and began to make his way to a solitary cabin down in the valley where the settler found him at the door.

Luther died that same night and the settler buried him in an unmarked grave behind the hen house. Remarkably, Luther had held on to his rifle, which the settler kept along with the powder pouch. When he went to town and traded a fine uncut diamond for supplies, livestock, and corn whiskey the alcohol loosened his tongue and he related the story of Luther's last hours. As the reader might expect there was a lot of searching on and around Buck Mountain for the source of Luther's diamond but the fabled den was never found.

Shortly thereafter on moonlit nights local residents began sighting a dark human shadow working its way among the trees on Buck Mountain. To them, its gait is unmistakably Luther's, and they know he is searching for the Lost Diamond Trove of Buck Mountain.

Now when present-day visitors to Buck Mountain sit on their porches or in their campers and listen to the whip-poor-wills, mourning doves, meadowlarks, squirrels, turkeys and other mountain denizens begin their nocturnal calls, they can never be certain that they're not hearing...The Curse of Buck Mountain.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

The Devil's Tramping Ground Project

Recently I received an email from a magazine reporter, a fellow ghost-chaser, who requested additional information after reading my blog entry about my true experience meeting The Ghost of Maco Station. I answered her questions the best I could and smugly mentioned that I had recently visited another famous North Carolina haunting, The Devil's Tramping Ground.

Fully unimpressed, she wrote that she had also visited the DTG...with a CAMERA CREW, and filed this report:

Devil's Tramping Ground Video

-- Dalton "Wow, did she upstage me" Hammond

Thursday, March 13, 2008

Call Me, Madam

A Madam in search of a Mister
Wound up with a fellow named Spitzer
Though their tryst went quite well
His career went to Hell;
He got screwed and never did kiss her.

Dalton Hammond

Monday, March 03, 2008

Who hit that shot, Tiger Woods?

Hello again, sports fans. Today while the world was glued to the tube your ole buddy Dalton Hammond was adding another page to his legacy.

It happened on the 12th hole on Pinehurst course number Five. After a totally unexpected par on hole #11 where my off-center tee shot left me 165 yards from the green -- all carry, over water, with the wind in my face -- I decided to take the coward's way out, punching a 3-hybrid club to a bailout area 30 yards left of the green. A lucky chip left me 12 feet past the hole and I drained the putt for a par 4 net 2, since I received a 2 stroke handicap on that hole.

I toasted my good fortune with a lemonade and three baked-on-premises oatmeal and raisin cookies from the halfway house and celebrated further on the 12th hole by pushing my next tee shot wide right into the line of trees along the cart path that ran up the long hill to the green 155 yards away. There was a big oak tree between my ball and the green. As I awaited my turn to play I ruminated under the deep blue Pinehurst sky. "Bluer than the hips of an eskimo fan dancer", I thought, remembering a favorite running joke from the Jack Benny radio series. "How would Tigger Woods handle this shot" I wondered. I decided to try to bend the shot around the tree and maybe end up somewhere near the front of the green.

Resting the sole of the now-famous lucky 3-hybrid club behind the ball with the face pointed directly at the tree/green line I set up my feet on a line pointing to the sand bunker to the left of the green, then took a three-quarter knockdown swing across the ball which started for the bunker and gently curved right, hitting the front fringe and taking two little hops as it skidded out of sight onto the elevated putting surface. Applause erupted among my fellow-competitors. "Tigger would have loved that one", I mused.

When I got to the green there was no ball in sight. I figured it had rolled off the green but there was no ball back there either. By now one of my comrades had reached the green and, with a witness close by I approached the hole, reached in and retrieved my ball, which I had holed out in just two strokes -- two under par, an EAGLE, my first ever -- for a net ONE.

Nimbly juggling the ball with one hand I nonchalantly headed for the cart and could be heard mumbling to myself "Take THAT, Tigger!"

Respectfully submitted,
Dalton Hammond