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& EDITORIALS
Declare among the nations, and publish, and set up a standard;
publish, and conceal not. - Jeremiah 50:2
2019, 2018, 2017, 2016 winner: Editorial Page excellen
2019, 2018 winner: Best Headline Writing
2019 winner: Best Community Service
2019 winner: Best Layout and Design
2019 winner: Best Serious Column - Don Daniel
ON THE PORCH by Will Davis
DRAWING ON THE NEWS by AF Branco
The biggest loser
I have fought a life-long battle with losing things, and it
seems I’m still — what else? — losing the battle.
In 2016 my dad took the whole family to Wash
ington, D.C. And of course, I lost my debit card at
a Washington Capitals hockey game. But as I say, I’m
fighting this problem. So around 10 p.m. I jumped in my
truck and barreled back to the hockey arena hoping to find
my blue United Bank debit card under our seat. I was in a
hurry. I’m not used to driving in big cities. I drove into a
concrete median and suffered two flat tires in downtown
Washington late at night.
Alas, God looks after drunks, fools and Will Davis. After
two hours waiting for a tow truck, a nice African immi
grant towed me to a garage that looked like a lean-to. Now
approaching midnight, the proprietor found one exact
match for my tire and was able to repair the other. Shaken,
scared but renewed in my faith, I putted back to the hotel,
having abandoned the search for the lost card.
After that trip, I ordered one of these giant zip-up man
purses — a murse — so I can store my checkbook and
prevent cards from sliding out.
Well after 6 years of taking lots of mockery for my Murse,
I got tired of toting the fat wallet. So I bought one of those
phone cases where you can store debit cards in it. It seemed
like a great purchase, a convenient way to consolidate how
much I have to carry. But my son borrowed my debit card
one day and put it back on my desk. Somehow it never
made it back inside the phone case. It’s still missing, prob
ably lying underneath something in my office.
To add to the fun, a few days later my business credit
card went missing. I looked around
my car. I searched the pockets of
my clothes in the hamper. Finally I
remembered that I had been mow
ing grass. So I combed the yard, and
found the scattered fragments of an
American Express card.
All that to say I found myself in July
without a way to pay for anything.
Then my son totaled his truck.
Then the car my son had bor
rowed from my in-laws died. It
was a week. That Thursday my
truck said it had 0 miles of gas
left. Which, all men know, means we have about 15 miles
left. Alas there was a truck fire on 1-475 in Bolingbroke I
needed to cover. I made it, and then got home.
The next morning I headed to work, wondering if I
would make it. Sure enough, on Maynards Mill Road, the
truck ran out of gas and I was stalled on the roadside.
But for once, I was prepared. I had put a gas can in the
back of the truck. All was well. I took a knife out my center
console to push open the lid on the tank. It wouldn’t budge.
I tried to shove the nozzle on the gas can down the tank to
open it up. The gas was still not making it into the tank.
I went to Google to try to find an answer. It seems that
Ford F-150’s now have a cap less Flex Fuel system that
require a special funnel to get gas into the tank. The good
news is that Ford put a special tool with the spare tire. The
bad news is, not in my truck it didn’t.
Now, the first rule of running out of gas is to try to make
sure your wife doesn’t find out. Thankfully my son was
home so I didn’t have to tell her. He picked me up and we
found the special funnel at an auto parts store in Forsyth.
Then we got more gas. Then we returned to the truck. I
finally arrived at work around 10:30 sweating profusely
and reeking of gasoline.
Worse, when I returned to my son’s latest car from get
ting the funnel, I caught him on the phone with my wife.
Ugh! She fills up her tank when she’s half empty, which has
been the subject of no small amount of ribbing from me. I
would never hear the end of this.
Alas, she has learned to accept my tendency to lose and
forget things, and to find myself in certain messes. When
we got married, at our rehearsal dinner, my mother pre
sented her with a giant net, and told her she would need
it to help me find all the things I would lose. She’s done a
pretty good job, but I think she’s wondering when it will get
easier.
is published every week by The Monroe County Reporter Inc.
Will Davis, President • Robert M. Williams Jr., Vice President
Cheryl S. Williams, Secretary-T reasurer
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Publisher/Editor
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Publication No. USPS 997-840
Americans for Limited
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©2022Creators, com
REECE’S PIECES by Steve Reece
Well, that was regrettable
"V" A "^hat began as a
% J platform in 2016
\J \l for short, humor-
T T ous clips, TikTok is
now more well known for its viral
internet challenges. Some of these
challenges will solidify my argument
that humanity has finally hit rock
bottom. For instance:
A female TikTok poster recently
wound up in the hospital after styl
ing her hair with Gorilla Glue. She
smeared a glob of the quick-setting
adhesive onto her scalp and within 15
seconds she was sporting a nice “per
manent”. Requiring 4 hours of sur
gery, she scored $20,000 in donations
and hundreds of free hair products
which gave reason for quite a
few imitators.
Another use for super
strength adhesive you
shouldn’t try at home is to
glue fake vampire fangs to
your teeth. Clips of geniuses
struggling to remove
the plastic choppers
from their incisors the
morning after Halloween
garnered over 9 million
TikTok views.
And a 14-year-old Monroe County
boy suffered second-degree burns
to his face and eyes and had to be
life-flighted to a hospital after report
edly tr)4ng to create a video for social
media early in the summer of2021.
The boy apparently was lighting a fire
with rubbing alcohol trying to repli
cate a video challenge he had seen on
TikTok.
If there had been social media
when I was a boy, my brothers and
I would’ve gone viral. All boys do
things considered borderline danger
ous like climbing trees or skateboard
tricks, but we went way above and
beyond. Unfortunately, none of our
shenanigans were ever videotaped.
One summer evening my dad
brought home a used dart board set
and hung it on the paneled wall on the
back porch. He stuck a piece of tape
on the concrete floor a few feet back,
taught us how to keep score and pro
ceeded to impress my brothers and I
with his throwing skills.
It turned out to be a great
diversion for three young boys.
We spent hours practicing dur
ing the hot summertime days
and got to be pretty good at it.
The competition was fierce, of
course, and although the argu
ments were frequent,
the game kept us some
what out of trouble.
Maybe it was because
my old man was in the
military but our favorite activity when
I was a kid was to play war games.
Either with other neighborhood kids
or wage battles among ourselves. We
had many different weapons at our
disposal. A long stick was a rifle. A
short stick was a knife. Dirt clods were
always cool because they exploded
into a puff of dust upon impact, and
it was easy to imagine they were hand
grenades. A piece of gravel or a chunk
of rock of was less dramatic visually
but much more effective. I still carry
a small scar on the left side of my left
eye from one of my brother David’s
lucky shots. Sometimes we used BB
guns or bows and arrows. When
in season, Black Cat firecrackers or
bottle rockets were our weapons of
choice.
One day, we chose the darts my
dad got for us. We got bored with the
limitations of throwing darts within
the confines of the back porch and
discovered that darts would also stick
in trees, wooden fences, the doghouse,
and the roof. I can’t remember what
started the battle but soon we were
throwing darts at each other.
I was hiding behind my dad’s work
shed, vigilant with three darts ready
to fire. I spotted John low crawling
across the yard, and I jumped out
with my arm high for the throw, but
John was quicker on the draw. He did
a quick roll in the grass and threw his
dart at me in the same instant. His
weapon found its mark exactly bulls-
eye center in my navel.
I don’t remember any pain only the
horror of looking down and realizing
there was a dart hanging out of the
middle of my shirtless tummy. John
was proud of his incredible shot and
jumped up with a cheer, pumping
both fists in the air. David tried to take
advantage of his sudden exposure but
missed by a mile. I ran into the house
crying for my mama.
Mama was sitting on the couch
drinking sweet tea and watching
“Dark Shadows” when I rushed in
screaming, “He got me!” Without
looking up from the TV, she an
swered, “Please don’t shout while I’m
watching my show!’ So, I stood before
her patiently squirming in bare feet
waiting for a commercial. Finally, she
turned her gaze toward me and no
ticed the dart dangling from my belly
button. “Oh, my lands!” A trickle of
blood had started to slowly ooze out.
I had never seen her so shocked. We
both looked away as she grabbed the
dart and gave it a hard yank. When I
turned back, she was holding it in her
lap with her head lying back and her
eyes tightly closed. On the TV, I heard
Barnabas Collins solemnly say, “Well,
that was a regrettable turn of events.”
Steve Reece is a writer for the Report
er and a known crime fighter. Email
him atstevereece@gmad.com.
CAROLYN S CORNER by Carolyn Martel
No, you cannot take it with you
T here was a very rich man
who was just
about to die and
he wanted to take
some of his wealth with him.
So he started negotiations
with God about the matter.
God was not sure, as it had
never been done before and
he did not want to set
a precedence. Finally
after long talks, God
reluctantly agreed to
allow him to bring his
wealth to heaven.
A FEW days before he died the
rich man converted all his money
into gold bullion. He died and the
funeral home made sure that the
suitcases containing the gold bullion
went with him. He arrived
at the Pearly Gates with
his suitcases and there
was Peter. Peter told him
he could not bring the
suitcases into heaven.
BUT THE man said he
had already spoken to
God and he had said
it was OK. So Peter
got on the God phone
and sure enough it
was true. So Peter was curious as to
what was so valuable that the man
wanted to bring it into heaven. Peter
said, “Could I look in the suitcases?”
So the man opened the suitcases
and Peter exclaimed, “Why are you
bringing pavement to heaven?”
ON A more serious note, how
many have compromised their rela
tionship with God to pursue riches
like gold? “For what profit is it to a
man if he gains the whole world, and
loses his own soul?” Matt. 16:26.
MAN CAN lust after riches and
gold to his own detriment, only
to painfully discover later that the
redeemed will walk upon streets
paved with gold in heaven! Ironic,
but true.
Carolyn Martel of Forsyth is the
retired long-time advertising manager
for the Reporter. Email her at car-
olynmartell @bellsouth. net.