Stand on stage.

If I could have a stage I would want to make people laugh. Tell jokes and relate stories that heal and inspire. Reach out and connect the audience in a golden woven cocoon of imagination and memory and take them on a ride through trials of humanity so endearing and engrossing that they wouldn’t dare walk away. 

Tales of family trips gone wrong where I am the anti-hero tripping over my own feet in an attempt to provide a vacation. Perhaps a camping trip. One where I fail to make a fire, the tent collapses, and the promised hearty meals never turn out right. Where the weather doesn’t play nice and the only break provided from adversity is broken by a raucous gathering of bikers intent on burning down the camp ground overnight. Assuredly neither me nor my wife slept that night.

Shootout scene

Ma didn’t have an extra rifle so the shotgun would have to suffice. Doc was in the corner loading bullets into his pistol. And the children were cowering behind the cast iron stove for protection. A cloud of dust could be seen raising up in the distance. The cavalry was coming. 

I didn’t mean to run over the Sheriff’s daughter but the horse just wouldn’t stop in time. Made an awful mess, and there was the Sheriff, eyes as big as dinner plates and gone almost completely white. All except his head of course. His face had turned the color of turnips and he had stopped breathing. 

Upon seeing this I skee-daddled out of town and back to the ranch. I didn’t want to endanger my family but I had nowhere else to go. 

The clock rang out 4 chimes, and a bullfrog in the pond out back croaked out a warning and jumped under the water as the posse began to coalesce out the front gate.