Buster Swiller All Fwink Willied Around

I am currently working on a series of sermons about wisdom. So, I have spent quite a bit of time lately thinking about foolish things I have done. Not the big, awful, mess your life up kind (though I have some of that). Just the dumb, spur of the moment, idiotic stuff that makes you look like a moron (got it by the truckload). Honestly, I think my brain went missing in seventh grade and I didn't get it back until I was about 30. So I have something like 18 years worth of material to draw on.

One of the foolish things I did in college was called "Buster Swillerin." A good friend of mine named Alan would do this funny thing where he would talk to you and throw in a couple of nonsense words. He could do it so well you would swear you didn't hear him right. This made you ask stupid questions and he got immense enjoyment out of it. Over time, our group of friends all got good at this and would do it to each other. Then we started using it on other people. One of the phrases we would often throw in was "Buster Swiller" and so we called this foolish little game "Buster Swillerin." After you did it to somebody really well you would say you "Busted them up." And of course my group of friends eventually became called "the busters." We even had a newsletter called the "Buster Gazette."

I once spent probably fifteen minutes at a McDonald's drive-thru as four of us tried to order. The poor person taking our order was so confused she was convinced the speaker wasn't working. So she told us to pull around to order. We did, and when she opened the window we unloaded with silly string on her.

We busted late night security guards, good-looking girls that intimidated us, and the President of the University. If someone famous was coming to visit school this was viewed as a prime chance to demonstrate your skills. We loved the perplexed look on people's faces as they tried to ascertain if we were crazy or they were. It was completely and utterly foolish. And great fun.

Hadn't thought about it in a long time until this sermon series. And then I saw this video. Back in the early nineties we didn't have easy access to video. Or else we would definitely have done this.

Pants on the Ground

In my sermon last Sunday, I mentioned a story where I accidentally glued my sweatpants to our kitchen floor. I was trapped while laying tile and in a very awkward position. I eventually determined that the only way out was getting out of my pants.

After church, this came up in a conversation. In a joking way it was mentioned that many of the worlds problems can be solved by dropping your drawers. Thought about it a little bit, and it's true! Just look at what all can be done by removing your pants.

1. Make a tourniquet for a severely cut arm.

2. Inflate them and use them as a life preserver.

3. Totally freak out and scare away a burglar.

4. Make a donation to Goodwill.

5. Cool down if you are overheating. (Once was on a summer youth trip when the AC went out in one of the vans. We stopped at a convenience store, put all the guys in that van, and proceeded to make do if you know what I mean.)

6. Wade a stream.

7. Solves the should I tuck or not dilemma (accept for a few diehards who would keep tucking. You know who you are.)

8. Beat out a fire.

9. Totally embarrass your daughter and scare away her scuzzy boyfriend.

10. Airport security is a lot simpler in a pantsless society.

11. You can't "sag" if you are not wearing pants. At least I hope you can't.

12. Makes it easy to get that Tetanus shot.

And of course...

13. Ants in the pants.

Admittedly there would be a few problems. Where to put your wallet and keys? Old dudes in whitey-tighties. A nationwide run on bleach. But you could still visit your favorite restaurant. The sign says no shirt, no shoes, no service. It says nothing about pants.

Kids Say the Darndest Things

With five kids in the house (four who are talking, and that pretty much non-stop) I am constantly bombarded with odd requests, regaled with stories that go nowhere, and questioned like I am the lead suspect in a mass killing. It is overwhelming some days.

But every once in awhile it pays off with either a moment of amazing grace or absolute hilarity.

Logan (our four year old) was bent over our three month old daughter Savannah. As she cooed and looked up at him he said, "Hey Savannah. Do you see me?" Then as she turned to look at him he screeched at her, "Look into the eye of the tiger!"

As a fan of both Rocky and Survivor (the musical group) I couldn't be more proud.

All's Fair

Went to the West Texas Fair this week. And now I am trying to figure out why.

I like the fair, I think. Apparently a lot of people like the fair. It was packed on Monday night when we made our foray onto the midway. And I enjoy seeing lots of different kinds of people all in one place. I like running into people I know, especially those I rarely see. But I don't like crowds or waiting in line.

My kids enjoyed riding a few rides. I'm not so big on it. It may have to do with the knowledge I have of what a fair ride is. I know that last week that ride was is Colorado or New Mexico, was hastily disassembled, driven to Abilene, and hastily set up. Would you ride in an automobile that yesterday was in pieces and is a couple of bolt turns away from being in pieces again? This can't be safe can it? Then there is the rust factor. My brother studied rust in graduate school (what fun that must have been) but from him I have gleaned this knowledge: rust is bad. So when I look at a ride that is covered in it, my trust alarm goes off. And then of course there is the ralph factor. When I was young I went to the fair with my neighbors, the West's. Their son Cody was two years older than me. He convinced me (against my better judgement, which is saying something for a seven-year old) to rider The Spider. Like most fair rides, the basic premise is to go round and round. So we did. At first it was no big deal. Then I was laughing uproariously as the speed increased. Then I knew I was going to be sick. I tried to get it over the side, but Cody took a direct hit. Think it also slung some on the people below us. Cody won me a goldfish to make up for it. Died in a week. This year I only rode rides that required an adult to ride with a child.

There is a lot to see at the fair. Exhibits. Tractors. Homemade pies with ribbons on them. I enjoy the exhibits. It's fun to see what some people are willing to submit, believing they have created a work of art. My kids aren't real big on the exhibits, they prefer the noise and lights of the midway. And besides I am bitter. For a couple of years I tried to become a judge. If anybody can tell a good pie from a great one, it's me. But I was rebuffed. I think I was done in by the "Old Girls Club." That's right, the fair made me a victim of sexual and age discrimination.

But of course there is the food. I have been in love with fair food since my grandparents took me to the fair and bought me some sausage with a piece of white bread folded around it. Oh my! I like to walk past every food vendor looking for the best deal on an eclectic mix of fried foods and roasted meats. And I love topping off an evening at the fair with the deep-fried goodness that is a funnel cake. But alas, this year the funnel cake line was too long. The kids were tired. And we went home.

So, what is the pull of the fair? Greasy food? But you can get that food lots of places. If a barbecue joint started serving funnel cakes, that would be fair food without the admission price. Great rides? On most fair nights it would be cheaper to buy a ticket to Six Flags where you would get rides cemented in the ground that are much more fun and exciting. Exhibits? Maybe years ago when this was the one chance to compete with your neighbors and see the amazing quilt made by Gertrude Mapplethorpe. But now I would much rather play spades on-line than compete against others at growing a big zucchini.

So why go to the fair? Only one reason. It's fun. It's an excuse to be a kid. To stare at the size of the horns on a longhorn. To ride a mechanical bull (yes I have, and boy it hurt). To eat a deep-fried snickers with ice cream without feeling guilty. To wonder how people can make a living as a juggler or a one-man band. To run through the fun house pretending you are in the finale of Grease. It's just fun. Totally lame and completely over-done. But fun. Seems to me I know a lot of people who no longer know how to have fun. They should go to the fair.