What I have here today concerns the pros and cons of cosmetic surgery. The advantages of having a broken nose are hard to recognize, and like teeth, even harder to swallow, but nonetheless they exist. After all, on a dark night if you couldn’t smell it (whatever it was), you wouldn’t even know it existed.

Think about it.

The smells of rack and ruin (oops, that should have been rank and ruint) the total nullification of the olfactory senses, a lack of defense. But…the advantages are there.

Consider the fact that smells will no longer annoy you (at lease until the swelling goes down). The unwashed guests in the hunting camp or kitchen will not attract your notice. The odors of politics will not offend you, which is an “A” of advantages. The halitosis your spouse has suffered since conception is instantly cured.

Now, I ask you, what are the advantages of a clean pictorial profile compared to that?

A state senator’s wife once remarked that she’d rather see something than smell it, and she sometimes wished she were blind as well.

So as to keep a decent balance of things, ignore the nose, don’t follow it.

I’m not sure I understand what she meant by that statement but I’m advising y’all, stop and realize how much trouble you can get in by following your nose. Go to your closest redneck juke joint and apply the procedure. It’s a guaranteed cure in Arkansas and might work here and it’s a cheap fix.

You can, if so minded, have it put back together so it looks the same as it always did, (good) but it won’t smell a #@** thing. Just like an old neutered dog, won’t bother nothing or nobody.

Noses, whether surgically altered, fistially bent, pinched or stretched, usually get that way because they were allowed to grow too long, like a a chihuahua’s toenails, until they eventually get poked into other folks’ business.

Fractious mules, improperly used tools, irate wives with frying pans and large bore rifles have accounted for their fair share of facial rearrangement procedures.

Now my personal experience with this redneck surgery was quite by accident. It involved a Shetland pony and a T-bar type clothesline support. It cured the olfactory sense problem but caused my proboscis to list about four degrees to port. I tooled along with it just fine for several years. After all, it wasn’t bent bad enough to affect my vision.

One day on the farm a handyman truck jack malfunctioned on “full automatic” and moved it back over six degrees to starboard. Since the right eye hardly works anyway, having my nose in its line of fire was of little or no consequence. Then there was a fugitive recovery mission gone wrong and she swapped decks again.

That brought me to my last option. My first ex-wife had a really precise left hook back in the day so I consulted her for an appointment. She never quite got over me. Actually, she never got over being mad at me. She compared me to bad cheese in a punch bowl when she stated flat-out that she wasn’t doing me no favors.

So here I am

Crooked as ever,

Ricky