tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62112802011-04-21T14:16:46.957-07:00The last word on cooking, golf, and holding your mouth right. Plus sage advice on how to contemplate colliding galaxies and your navel at the same time. Plus the 50 worst gags of all time.Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.comBlogger431100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1119804320679486512005-06-26T09:41:00.000-07:002007-02-26T13:16:33.182-08:00

WHY CAN'T I FIND A GOOD BOOK?It's getting harder and harder for me to finish reading a novel.What happens is, I read a book's provocative blurb telling me that this MIND-PARALYZING BOOK FOR THE AGES will scare me out of my shorts or something, but then I find out after reading the first twenty pages that I don't care what happens to the hero; and I sure don't want to know why the elms are

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1119760874464060472005-06-25T20:41:00.000-07:002005-06-25T21:41:14.530-07:00

VINCE'S JOURNALJune 25, 2005Here's looking at you Bogie.HOME IMPROVEMENTWent up on the roof to unplug the gutters and down spouts around my garage apartment. Finally. That is so typical of me. It quit raining a month ago so now when the gutters aren't needed, that's when I go up there to fix it. But heck, you wouldn't expect met to go up there in the rain, would you.The ladder was real rickety so

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1119645016592754992005-06-24T13:19:00.000-07:002005-06-24T13:30:16.596-07:00

FAMOUS LINES FROM WESTERN MOVIESThe deathless quotes, below, are found at least once in every Western movie ever made. And I could always depend on them loafers in front of the saloon to make fun of the Kid's boots two, three times.Course when they did that he always knocked 'em in the horse trough. They never learn.Here goes some famous old lines of dialog.^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^FIRST OLD TIMER: Say! I

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1119547070898620402005-06-23T10:16:00.000-07:002005-06-23T10:17:50.903-07:00

VINCE'S JOURNAL20005 IF I WERE KINGThe first thing I'd do is eliminate all the BS on TV commercials. For example, we've all seen the nonsensical ad exhorting us to get a high school diploma so that during our lifetime we can earn $200,000 more than some poor sap without a diploma. But what good is a diploma when so many kids getting out of high school can't read or write? No

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1105213529283479482005-01-08T11:39:00.000-08:002005-01-08T11:45:29.283-08:00

VINCE'S JOURNAL IF I WERE KING I would make TV news producers admit that they are unhappy unless they have a big juicy holocaust as their lead story on the five o'clock news. I would make news anchors stop exaggerating every forest fire story with tales of enormous destruction of buildings which turn out to be incinerated chicken coops and an old tool shed or two. WEATHER (You Can't Win Dept.)

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1105093535247277102005-01-07T02:23:00.000-08:002005-01-07T02:25:35.246-08:00

VINCE'S JOURNAL II January 7, 2005 IF I WERE KING The first thing I'd do is eliminate all the BS on TV commercials. For example, we've all seen the nonsensical ad exhorting us to get a high school diploma so that during our lifetime we can earn @200,000 more than some poor sap without a diploma. But what good is a diploma when kids getting out of high school can't read or write? No amount of

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1104979919866751652005-01-05T18:46:00.000-08:002005-01-05T18:51:59.866-08:00

MY LIFE ... AND WHY I DID IT By Vince Johnson I grew up around Palo Alto and Los Altos, Calif. I've always been a writer. In the fifth grade I wrote fairy tales. I always had the queen flying into a rage, and of course I always threw in a couple ogres to leap out at people. Since I spent my youth developing a keen eye and a steady hand you may be surprised that I did not make my fortune playing

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1104796008746075352005-01-03T14:04:00.000-08:002005-01-03T15:46:48.746-08:00

VINCE'S JOURNAL IF I WERE KING The first thing I'd do is interview some athlete after the game and make him tell the truth -- KING: Boy that was some game, Mike. Almost unbelievable that you scored five touchdowns in the last quarter and put all those opposing linebackers out of commission with your punishing runs up the middle. ATHLETE: Yeah, it was a superb effort on my part. And don't

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1104608601307334242005-01-01T10:54:00.000-08:002005-01-01T11:43:21.306-08:00

VINCE'S JOURNAL IF I WERE KING The first thing I'd do is appoint a committee to find out why they won't let white boys in college anymore. Have you seen the football lineup at USC or LSU? All black. And in college basketball there is the same disproportionate assemblage of black to white scholars. Who is keeping us white boys out of college? It's a conspiracy to keep us honkeys stupid, WEATHER

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1104505196612610832004-12-31T06:56:00.000-08:002004-12-31T06:59:56.613-08:00

HOW I PLAN TO GET RICH It's not complicated: All you do is get on paypal and send me money at my paypal address: vgjohnson@wizwire.com Simple, isn't it? Then each day in this journal I'll report how much cash I've taken in and what I'm doing with it. CASH COLLECTED SO FAR ---->>: $00.00. I mean, come on, gang. Puhleeze! TODAY'S LITTLE RANT IF I WERE KING WEATHER GOLF GARDEN PETS MAC

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1102447096854523272004-12-07T11:00:00.000-08:002004-12-07T11:18:16.856-08:00

MY REAL AUTOBIOGRAPHY (v.3) I've prit near got it right this time By Vince Longknocker Johnson Before talking about my extraordinary dominance over everybody else in every possible activity, including horseshoes, I might as well start right out and tell you that I am the best damn golfer in California. Having settled that subject to your complete stupefaction, I'm sure you now have a basis for

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1102432887606598662004-12-07T07:17:00.000-08:002004-12-07T07:21:27.606-08:00

GETTING IT ON IN LUCID DREAMS What a Daredevil! I’m about 150 pages into “Insomnia.” Took me a while to get going on it. I couldn’t see where King was going with the story or why I should care. Now I’m at the part where the dream expert is talking about REM and lucid dreaming, which is something I know quite a bit about, having experienced dreams many times in which I knew I was dreaming. I get

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1098473653281659772004-11-22T23:16:00.000-08:002004-11-15T18:08:50.676-08:00

Number 9 in the Series of Dumb Things Golfers Do In a practice session today, hitting little pitch shots, I was striking the ball very solidly. You know what I'm talking about? Have you noticed that when you hit the ball solid, right on the nose, it feels dull, not sharp. You don't get the stinging sensation that tells you the hit was not solidly on the face of the club. I asked myself the

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1091539833118763892004-08-03T06:23:00.000-07:002004-08-03T06:30:33.120-07:00

WORLD'S GREATEST CHINESE LOVER After arriving from China, Choon worked as a cook in Dinah's Shack, for thirty years. When I met him he was in his 60's, a small, bowlegged man -- from malnutrition as a youth, no doubt -- and with his stooped posture and quick, scurrying movements about the large kitchen, he always looked to me like someone trying to round up a flock of chickens in a barnyard.

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1091484222808240362004-08-02T14:57:00.000-07:002004-08-03T05:55:36.523-07:00

THE PRIVET THAT WOULD NOT DIE At 75 I have finally learned a valuable lesson which greatly simplifies my existence. When finished with a job, I put my tools away in the same place every time. No longer do I have to waste the first half hour of every job looking for the proper tools. It is just beautiful. I don't know why I never thought of it before. Case in point: Today I needed my pruning

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1089583927035908662004-07-11T14:57:00.000-07:002004-07-11T15:12:07.036-07:00

A FIVE-YEAR-OLD FIGURES OUT HOW HIGH UP THE SKY GOES Doping out the solution I remember when I was about five or so, standing out in the yard looking up at the night sky and wondering where the stars disappeared to during the day. I figured they probably withdrew until they were too far away to be seen. The next question my sledgehammer brain tussled with was how far up the sky went. I

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1087739329764177192004-06-20T06:40:00.000-07:002004-06-20T06:48:49.763-07:00

WORLD'S FIRST BUREAUCRAT In an idle moment at the dawn of the Stone Age, the Chief Ecologist decided to do something about all the holes in the ground. Taxpayers kept falling into them, you see, and disappearing. Predictably, the Chief Ecologist got hold of a local entrepreneur called Willie Glog and put Willie in charge of the Hole-In-The-Ground-Agency (HGA). A born bureaucrat, Willie

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1084030967403999652004-05-08T08:40:00.000-07:002004-05-08T08:47:16.670-07:00

MY SON THE BOOKKEEPER Born with a shovel in his hand... My father used to worry about the direction my life would take. He kept asking me if I knew where I was going. After seeing my report cards, he realized that I was not going into Law or Medicine. "Where are you going, son?" he asked me. “What will you do?” An old trick used by fathers in his generation was to hand a boy a tool such as a

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1083796209741720492004-05-05T15:28:00.000-07:002004-05-05T15:34:35.293-07:00

INTO THE SAUSAGE GRINDER WITH YOU! The Case of the Extraordinarily Suspicious Cat I don’t know what’s the matter with Tommy. After two years of coming to my door every morning for breakfast, he still hangs back a safe distance and spits at me when I fill his bowl. He won’t go near his bowl until I’ve left the deck and retreated inside my office. Then when he’s made damn sure I’m not gonna leap

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1081951972448242922004-04-14T07:12:00.000-07:002004-04-17T05:19:29.860-07:00

INTO THE SAUSAGE GRINDER WITH YOU! Pets gotta pay their way around here Tommy The Freeloader got his courage up and crept inside today. He took a snooze right on the carpet in my office. It must have been the rain that drove him in. His fear of me goes back to the time I trapped him in a cage and planned to get rid of him by throwing him in the sausage grinder! Ever since that day when he

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-108179075931206102004-04-12T10:24:00.000-07:002004-04-12T10:29:53.030-07:00

www.vincejohnson.net vgjohnson@wizwire.com

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1077542095669329212004-02-23T05:13:00.000-08:002004-02-25T10:01:48.686-08:00

CHOKE ARTIST Hitting The Downhill Snake Flapjaw Jim wobbled his Adam’s apple with a long pull on his beer, then cleared his throat importantly and addressed the crowded 19th hole bar: ”You shoulda seen the putt I sank on that last hole. A lotta guys choke on those downhill snakes; they’re afraid of hittin’ ’em too far past the hole. But that’s for losers. I always RAM those downhill ten-footers

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1077380214121941072004-02-21T08:07:00.000-08:002004-02-21T08:19:37.950-08:00

THE HORROR OF BRITISH MOVIES I never know what's going on. The Brits don't pronounce their words. Every line is tossed off. Example: "Not a half bad adventure, what? - fighting off all these rhinos and cobras." Answer: "Rather." Then, there are those confounded wailing sirens: WAH wah, WAH, wah. Why can't the Brits use proper sirens? And who writes that awful dialog? Example:

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1076197706977562672004-02-07T15:46:00.000-08:002004-02-19T15:01:52.983-08:00

COOK'S JOURNAL Vincent G. Johnson (What to do with bacon grease) Numberless hordes of cooks have never bothered to get competent training in the culinary arts. This lack of ambition binds them forever to the line, sweating over the grill, the broiler and the french fryer. What they don't realize is that the acquisition of one simple skill, such as knowing how to make good soup, can catapult

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1075826656476626132004-02-03T08:38:00.000-08:002004-02-03T08:46:35.090-08:00

BARE BOOBS AROUND THE WORLD Another obscenity on TV Somebody has not been reading The National Geographic. That's where all us kids got our first look at the obscene mammalian gland, and I'll have to admit it warped my mind permanently. I was twelve before I discovered, thanks to Playboy, that not all boobs are black.

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1074889502909907632004-01-23T12:19:00.000-08:002004-01-23T12:28:50.920-08:00

AND ME WITHOUT MY SECRET LITTLE ORPHAN ANNIE DECODER RING! Plowing through the Da Vinci book. Imagine an arcane book like this being written by a guy who calls himself Dan Brown, instead of Horace Snigglefritz or something. When I got to the secret mirror image poem in the rosewood box I very cleverly held it up to the light from the rear to see what it said in reverse, not realizing that the

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1074703236388648182004-01-21T08:33:00.000-08:002004-04-13T08:22:24.560-07:00

THE FANTASTIC STORY OF MY LIFE (Written with great restraint by my mom) Actually, I think Mom went a little overboard in the restraint dept. It would be neither fair nor factual to pass over this wonder boy with a mere catalogue of his glittering accomplishments. In a scientific work of this kind it is perfectly proper to say, first, that staggered as we are by the fecundity of his loins, much

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1073624168327870452004-01-08T20:52:00.000-08:002004-01-08T20:56:27.900-08:00

GREATEST FIGHTS OF THE 20TH CENTURY! 1937: This was a short fight. I just punched poor old Freddie Erickson in the stomach and knocked the wind out of him. Freddie was always a sucker for that shot to the breadbasket. 1937: Another short fight. I got Freddie in my Death Grip until he had to give up. Those fights didn’t change our friendship; we were best pals for years. 1938: Oh oh, This

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1073108139241694282004-01-02T21:10:00.000-08:002004-01-02T21:52:43.540-08:00

INTO THE SAUSAGE GRINDER WITH YOU! Pets gotta pay their way around here Tommy The Freeloader got his courage up and crept inside today. He took a snooze right on the carpet in my office. It must have been the rain that drove him in, not the food. How can he eat that messy, foul-smelling stuff? His extreme fear of me goes back to the time I trapped him in a cage and planned to get rid of him by

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1073019999868156242004-01-01T20:59:00.000-08:002004-01-01T21:08:24.756-08:00

COOK'S JOURNAL Choon's Chickens Wrote by Vincent G. Johnson After emigrating from China, Choon worked in Dinah's Shack for thirty years. When I met him he was in his 60's, a small, bowlegged man -- from malnutrition as a youth, no doubt -- and with his stooped posture and quick, scurrying movements about the large kitchen, he always looked to me like someone trying to round up a flock of

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1072647724118745902003-12-28T13:41:00.000-08:002003-12-28T18:55:32.550-08:00

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1072627444015289952003-12-28T07:38:00.000-08:002003-12-28T13:46:57.596-08:00

SOUP SECRETS What are you, a used car salesman or a cook? How to make Clam Chowder, as told to me by Chef Jean Combettes If you go to work in a first-class house and make this soup as I am showing you, you will immediately classify yourself as a professioNAL. The chef will recognize you, and will know at once that you were not selling used cars last week, like so many who put on a tall hat and

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1072373396065721602003-12-25T09:28:00.000-08:002003-12-25T09:30:12.220-08:00

FAMOUS LAST WORDS “They couldn't hit an elephant at this dist. . . . “ General John Sedgwick, Killed in battle during US Civil War. ~~ www.vincejohnson.net

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1072373053333609852003-12-25T09:22:00.000-08:002003-12-25T09:28:12.833-08:00

FRAT SLOP Come on, Losers, college is not one big frat party FRIDAY NIGHT In the frat house. Stanford students in poker game, smoking cigars, drinking beer, running up and down the halls snapping towels at each other ... All except House Nerd Wally Zit. Wearing tattered but sensible hand-me-down JC Penney jeans, Zit sits alone, writing a letter: DEAR MOM: THESE SOULLESS APES THINK COLLEGE IS

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1072285279236947902003-12-24T08:59:00.000-08:002003-12-24T09:01:35.413-08:00

GREAT KITCHEN DISASTERS with the assistance of a fire-breathing cleric What can a poor cook do when, as it must in the fragile career of all cooks, disaster strikes? The famous French chef August Escoffier (we all called him OOGIE) recommended the following strategy: When you have worked all day to prepare a culinary masterpiece for an important guest but your masterpiece has been ruined by

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1072238987182093582003-12-23T19:46:00.000-08:002003-12-23T20:10:03.146-08:00

MY REAL AUTOBIOGRAPHY (v.3) Before talking about my extraordinary dominance over everybody else in every possible activity, including horseshoes, I might as well start right out and tell you that I am the best golfer in California. Having settled that to your complete satisfaction, you now have a basis for understanding whom the hell you are dealing with and how to interpret my following remarks.

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1072122735375857392003-12-22T11:50:00.000-08:002003-12-22T11:52:30.383-08:00

You can get hold of me at vgjohnson@wizwire.com http://vincejohnson.net

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1072038043318011892003-12-21T12:17:00.000-08:002003-12-22T11:47:38.170-08:00

THE EDUCATION OF A CAMP COOK "I'm a cook," I announced confidently to the union dispatcher in Anchorage. "I'm looking for work." "Cook, huh?" She looked me over like if you've seen one greenhorn you've seen 'em all and referred me to a long list of names on a clipboard. "You'll have to sign up on that sheet with the rest of 'em." With sinking hopes I looked at the list of about thirty names.

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1071932714159156302003-12-20T07:03:00.000-08:002003-12-20T07:05:29.270-08:00

HEY! YOU TRYIN TO GET IN TOUCH WITH ME? vgjohnson@wizwire.com

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1071875504716539432003-12-19T15:05:00.000-08:002003-12-19T15:11:59.550-08:00

TODAY'S INCREDIBLY DISASTROUS CATASTROPHE! Still can't find my 7-iron. I threw it at a couple of deer in the garden eating my flowers. Well actually I threw three golf clubs. Two of 'em were old worn out irons I had laying around out on the deck. But that 7-iron was special. It was the club that won the club championship for me at Pebble. A deadly chipper.

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1071675642270127522003-12-17T07:40:00.000-08:002003-12-17T07:45:37.463-08:00

WORLD'S FIRST BUREAUCRAT: In an idle moment at the dawn of the Stone Age, the Chief Ecologist decided to do something about all the holes in the ground. It seems that taxpayers kept falling into them and disappearing. In a flash of brilliance the Chief Ecologist got hold of a local genius called Willie Glog and put him in charge of the Hole-In-The-Ground-Agency. A born bureaucrat, Glog

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1071674930514451142003-12-17T07:28:00.000-08:002003-12-17T07:48:22.430-08:00

WHAT'S WRONG WITH BRITISH MOVIES? I can't watch a British movie. I never know what's going on. They don't pronounce the words. Every line is tossed off. Then, there are those confounded wailing sirens: WAH wah, WAH, wah. Why can't the British use proper sirens? And who the hell writes the dialog? Example: World coming to an end, asteroids striking London, mutant monsters all over the place. Then

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211280.post-1071528320259946482003-12-15T14:45:00.000-08:002003-12-17T12:41:55.453-08:00

HANDLIN YO MAIN SLAPPIN BITCH Some chumps think you got to duck yo head and be nice to yo main slappin bitch. But that ain't me. I treat her nice only when I damn well feel like it and when she have damn well earned it. Then I show mercy and drag my handsome old self over to her department a couple nites a month and give her what fo. Mo' on how to handle your MSB next time, dude.

Montana Jonesnoreply@blogger.com0