I mentioned recently (as a part of my frequent lies) that were a number a things that I wouldn’t do in the first place and wouldn’t ever do again if I was forced to.

Well, as it says in the Jerimika Janson song, “Life don’t always turn out just the way you had in mind.”

Now, I jumped out of the airplane, (I had sworn I’d never “bail out” from a plane that was still flying) but I’d lost the bet, so I had to jump (trick parachute).

I also swore to never engage the services of a submarine, because a boat that was designed to sink and not guaranteed to float again goes against the grain of survival (plus I don’t like to get wet).

I also said that I’d never break a green horse again, or fly airplanes in questionable aviational condition. (Broken wings, duct tape on the rudders, faulty flaps, sick engines etc.)

Y’all know where I’m coming from. It’s like a New Year’s  resolution. Bound to be broken.
The only two things on the list that were unviolated as of last week were the green horses and the submarine.

Well, the only thing left now on the list of things not to do is a submarine ride.

That’s why I’m considering moving to the desert in Arizona or New Mexico so I won’t be tempted, because the green horse tempted me beyond calibration.

If the creative hadn’t been bestowed upon me as a gift I would never have considered to commit attempted suicide by putting a saddle on it. I guess I’m old enough to have a second childhood by now, but let me warn y’all, the second is rougher than the first when it comes to wild horses.

Somewhere in time between the first and second childhood phases I forgot that anything that outweighs you by a ratio of ten to one and is capable of “free range thought” will give you pause for thought while you heal up afterwards (if you’re lucky enough to live past the ride).

I survived the trip with no broken bones and only a few cuts from a barbed wire fence.

The low tree branch he ran me under only destroyed my best hat and took off a small piece of my eyebrow and my right ear (which I am deaf anyway). I have bruises that are visible as well as blisters in places you wouldn’t want to see.

A friend of mine called and informed me that we have acquired the remains of a WWII veteran fighter plane that is in restorable condition. I was interested until he described it as a P051 mustang.

I’ll have to chew on that for a while. In the future if anyone wants to donate a submarine I’ll take it. I’ll put it to good use, too. We need a new septic tank down at the Moccasin Bend and I couldn’t think of a better place to sink it.

Ricky Harpole