Step Aside James Alexander Malcom McKenzie Fraser

My wife has been telling me about the series of books by Diana Gabaldon for quite some time.  Now it’s on cable and I’ve been watching it with her.  And damnit – I like it!  I didn’t want to, I really didn’t.  Who wants to read about some manly Scot all sissified for wanton hussies?  I mean really!  Did you see the Wedding episode?  Of course you hussies have, you’ve been wondering what corn grinding looks like for six episodes, so they gave you one full hour of slobbering whiskey filled bliss. (Pssst… Claire drinks too much).  I think Claire needs a real Scottish man.  So step aside James Alexander Malcom McKenzie Fraser… for Haggis McGoey Fernando Louis Ernie Hamish.

Famous Hamish will do.


Haggis McGoey Fernando Louis Ernie Hamish

You want corn grinding?  I’ll give you hash browns, French toast,  and cracker jack ring to boot!  And stop with all the meme’s like “Save a Horse – Ride a Scot“, or the new series of “Hey Lassie…”  No real Scot or Scot wannabe would be caught dead saying those things. Id ana gunna hap (Gaelic to English translation: Yo Girl it ain’t gunna happen).  Ye ken wanna id, but I canna du id.

Seriously, I’ve been looking for someone with an evil trait, and Frank, I mean Black Jack fits just the bill.  Except why didn’t he question Claire about who the Bloody Mary mix was Frank?  You see I write fantasy, so I don’t have to tie my characters to history, I just make the stuff up as I go.  This saves on the research and travel budget, which has been stuck on a corn grinding 99 cents.

And really, a bunch of fairies dancing around a rock in the 1940’s?  Puhleeze… how ridiculous is that?  Change it to the 1960’s or current day Colorado and it’s totally believable.  Then there’s the subject matter of James Alexander Malcom McKenzie Fraser’s hamburger helper torture scene.  I’ve withstood numerous paper cuts and bled worse than that!  Fainted too.

Finally, for a couple of weeks they’ve been building up this wedding scene of James Alexander Malcom McKenzie Fraser unraveling of the kilt, only to see the shadows cloak little Jamie.  I bet you hussies were a little disappointed, weren’t you now? My wife, immediately took me by English garrison surprise that night, much to my happiness.  I thank you Diana.  I’ve recorded it and play it nightly.  It has saved my marriage from the pits of the Randall hell. Just keep the dialogue less moments coming, and coming, and coming.  But please, add a little fruit and protein to all that grinding, man canna survive on corn.

Long live James Alexander Malcom McKenzie Fraser, who I now call “Bud.” Haggis McGoey Fernando Louis Ernie Hamish, who you can now call me “Ham”, thanks you too!


Spanx for Men – No Thanks!


Dr. Spanxster Rhyme

As usual, my friends on Facebook provide the material for my insanity. One of my female friends drug me into this one with the the following question.  Here it goes:

I have a question for the ladies……. Be honest! Have you ever tried spanx? LOL!
I did once, I couldn’t get in and out of it! What was your experience? Ha Ha.

Then, for some reason, I was pulled into this with this comment:

EW Greenlee, You have got to jump into this one! This stuff is right up your alley!

This caught me by surprise, because I wondered if she knew I was a man.  Was Spanx some form of 50 Shades board and rack game?  Do not pass go, do not collect $200, bend over and receive your Spanx.  I had no idea why I was being dragged into this one, so I researched Spanx and found it was just undergarments. Really, really tight undergarments.   Whew….  So I replied back,

Sorry, I don’t jump into women’s panties. Who do you think I am?!

Then one reader responded “Kilt Spanx”, to which I replied,

Sorry, I go all natural when wearing kilts. I never know when I need to do the Braveheart flash scene. Freeeeedom! Aiyeeee!

If you have ever seen that scene you know what I am talking about.  If not, rent it and see what’s under those kilts – both sides!!

Men in kilts

Well I’ll be Spanxed!!!

Now the instigator of this madness replied one last time,

I know you love to laugh. You’re going to have try this, and then write about it. It would be a hoot! Get Tracey one too, and make it a couple’s event! LOL!

So as you can see my absurd readers are waiting patiently for my brilliant post.

First off, if my wife and I ever decided to go all 50 Shades of Spanx and share panties, I would not share it with anyone. Second, there would be no sex tape, unless I have $1 billion in pre-orders (hey, scruples can be bought!)  Just for fun I thought I share some of their comments, since I was asked to jump in.

Sure been thinking about getting some! Anything that might hid the reality!

I finally got it on and then….thought I would never get it off and I might die.

Do they come in extra large?

I never squirmed and twisted so much in my life! It was awful

I felt like a fish flopping out of water!

I thought I should call an EMT! Hey, I am serious…..I was scared….

Same here I lost my courage, I wouldn’t even try a larger size! It was awful!

I bought one of those deals for my daughter’s wedding.. sweated like a pig.. She got married in June. I thought I was gonna die.

I sweated like a pig, because I was struggling so hard to get it off!!!!

I found the Power Panty far too tight (First male response – the Wuss Wuss train is now boarding)

They make these for men too! You’re a curious soul…. (Referring to yours truly)

No, I am not THAT curious.  But I do love to laugh.  I can only imagine a bunch of menopausal women squirming and sweating like a bunch of pigs as a good night of fun – NOT!  Is this what really happens at Bunko?

You ladies and Mr. Wuss Wuss, should have known any product named SPANX is going to hurt.  If I decide I want to become a soprano opera wuss wuus, I’ll give Spanx a try.  Geez Mon!


No, no…. Don’t say it!
Spanx the Monkey!
You just had too, didn’t you!

And there you have it!  My contribution to the product known as Spanx, to which Famous Hamish (my alter ego) says NO THANKS!  I have a wife, isn’t that torture enough!

LEGAL DISCLOSURE – to those who love Spanx and make their livelihood from Spanx, just understand this is absurd humor and I hope you like to laugh.  If you decide to sue me, will you settle for 50% of my sex tape preorders?

Hawaii Bound Via a 2007 GMC Yukon


Today, I started a Facebook post to see if anyone truly reads my posts, including this one.  I’ve been writing humor posts for over two years now and I am beginning to think no one likes my sense of humor.  Well, that’s tough! Because I have to write, even if it kills me like eventually getting to Hawaii.  Let me set the stage.

I posted that after 30 years of saving for Hawaii my wife and I now have enough to afford the cardboard box we said we would live in if we could just get there.  One of my loyal reading friends chimed in immediately:

“Get a duplex cardboard box and I’ll move with you!”

Now cardboard walls are very thin, so I asked if she snored and could afford the $10 per month rent fee.

She said cardboard box rentals should be no more than $1 per month.  It’s all professional beach bums and bimbos could afford. (As an author you have to embellish the story). I stated there was a $9 carrying charge included in the rent.  This covers me carrying the duplex to the next location so we don’t get detected, evicted and deported back to Okalahomala.  She said she’d settle for $5.  I accepted, and told her I would have gone as low as $two-fiddy.  But, I am an accountant, bean counter, shell counter or whatever you wish to call me. Haggling Hamish is my middle name.

Now her mother chimed in and said if she could take her whole family she’d do it in a heartbeat.  I replied that I was moving to get away from family.  She thought that was horrible of me and said she had to be near her family.  So I researched the actual distance from Oklahoma City to Honolulu.  Turns out it is 3,742 miles.  For me, that’s close enough to maintain a healthy family relationship.

Then as I read on, the distance is 4,802 miles by car.  BY CAR?!  I KID YOU NOT.  Look here:

Distance to Hawaii (Internet Site)

What kind of car can make it to Hawaii from Oklahoma?  I have a 2007 GMC Yukon, which I am sure cannot withstand ten thousand foot deep water or millions of pounds of pressure per square inch.  And why 1,100 extra miles?  Is there a construction detour at the Marianna Trench?  But hey, “adventure” is my middle name (Carlos Danger was already taken), so if they have a map, I’m game.  And it only takes 15 days.

To fund my relocation efforts I need to crowd fund my trip.  So I got one friend to invest a dime, then later a quarter he found in the bottom of his kitty litter box (embellished for sensory stimulation).  Great!  Now all I need is just 10,000,000,000,000,000.50 more friends crowding me with a quarter.  You will help right?

Crossing the Pacific in my GMC Yukon brings up a thought for an excellent story, “Life of EW”

“I was stranded in the middle of the pacific on a floating GMC Yukon. In the backseat, I discovered a blood thirsty Golden Retriever and Tammy Francis the stowaway. We sacrificed Tammy to the Golden and gave thanks to Poseidon. After many days adrift, we landed on Maui with nothing more than a duplex cardboard box. Much to my surprise Andy Wilson was already there, half snockered from Mai Tai’s. As I pulled myself from the sands, Andy asked, ‘Where did you come from stranger?’ 

I looked at him incredulously.  “Okalahomala you fool! Can’t ye tell by me furrin accent?  Ye ain’t stoopid are ye?” Then the Golden, who never obeyed and never retrieved a single thing since we rescued her, walked away into the jungle . 

Excerpt from “Life of EW” You’d buy it, right? It’s engrossing and grossly grossing at the same time, overly ripe for a major motion picture by Ang Lee.

Well, that’s all the brilliant humor I can muster for this day, unless someone has the mileage to Mars via a 1942 Studebaker.  But being the brilliant enterprising fellow that I am; I am loading my duplex, my tartan, some fresh haggis and a hammock just in case.  Because my other middle name is “Famous Hamish” and being the hottie scottie of the Hawaiian highlands is my game.  Besides, I can’t wait to tell the stories of me holding my large Humuhumunukunukuapua’a. (It’s a fish folks – a fish!)

Now please reply, or click “like”, so that I know I am not alone on my journey to get to Hawaii and form a cardboard condominium complicated complex community.

Keep Laughing my friends!

The Age of the Wuss

This sounds like a chapter from a fantasy adventure story, but it is actually a chapter out of modern history. Last night I died laughing, but was resurrected, by my male genetic code to survive this modern age, from watching comedian Don Friesen.  He’s now my favorite comedian because he has observed the modern wussy world and is making a living from it.  Here’s a sample.

All aboard the wuss train – wuss, wuss!  I refuse to ride that train with shaved chest, legs, arms and groin, carrying my little man purse and looking modern in my man Capri.  My daughter says that men like this are now called a hipster.


A hipster you say? If you go back to the 1970’s, my generation, they would have been called a wuss.  Sorry, I know it is not politically correct, but I’m not a politician.  It’s funny too, because when women post photos on Facebook or blogs you see something like the following photo below under a category called “Man Candy.”  Now he might be wearing a leather kilt, but also notice the salivating women bidding on this “man.”  How many of you ladies would bid on an Erkel or a Bieber?  That’s what I thought.


I graduated high school in 1977.  I was 6’1″ and 135 pounds.  I was not a man, I was a twig.  If I turned sideways you couldn’t see me.  I was the incredible disappearing twig wussy. See, I don’t even spare myself.  So I took off on a quest to leave wussyville behind me – forever. One year later I put on 50 pounds of muscle and BAM –  Quakers Instant Man!  My love life went from zero and dead on arrival, to hero and gone in sixty seconds.  I was going on a hunch that strong men survive the gene pool. The age of the wuss had ended.

So ladies help me out here, tell me what you are really thinking?  Here’s your choices – the sensitive, fashionable, video game addicted, completely shaven, hipster twig wuss of a man like slave substance, or


A real man with hair and muscle, ready to lay down his life and rescue you from evil.  With this hero, you’ll have to carry your own shopping bags.


I think I know the answer.

Men in kilts

Yup, I was right the first time. The wuss train is leaving, the man candy wagon is boarding. ALL ABOARD!

Man up men!

Famous Hamish Hogmanay

There are always men out there who are willing to try anything to make a living, and Famous Hamish is no exception.  So why not book your next vacation to a little known Hawaiian paradise hideaway.


We hear it all the time, people getting tired of the same old grass skirts, hula dances and pigs in a pit dinner buffets.  They want a new and different sort of Hawaiian experience.

Welcome, says Famous Hamish, also known as the Island Highlander, or Hottie Scottie to our female guests, to the experience of a lifetime. You see, Hamish wound up on a little known deserted Hawaiian island named Ilikey SippiMaiTaiIki, which was once a home to three wayward Scottish lepers. Now it is a must see destination for your family vacation.

Come ride the waves.  Glide effortlessly on our tropical zip line and the feel the wind rushing between your skirt, ah – freeeeeeeedom!  Lay back and relax on our natural feeling sheep plucking part hammocks.  Get up, get down, and dance to the nightly “beach dance” with instructor Michael Flatfoot O’Finley.  Finish the night off with the art of Haggis filled coconut hurling and eating.  There is so much to do and so much to learn of the island highland culture.

You too could be the next island highlander. So come visit us soon and learn the real meaning of – Hang Loose Dude!


Famous Hamish Hot Rods and Hot Haggis To Go


Welcome to Famous Hamish’s Hot Rods and Hot Haggis To Go.  We want your buying experience to be pleasant, even though you are a peasant.  Take for example this 1932 Highland Hummer.  Aye, what a beauty!  It only has 3,000,000 miles and is only $4,500.  They don’t make beauties like this anymore.  Relive your drive-in movie days, fog up some windows. No more of those fancy schmancy cockpits separating you and your lover – ooh la la!

Need financing? Let Big Bobby of BBB Enterprises handle your financing, only 3% for 30 years, 30% for 3 years – we give you options!

Big Bollocks Bobby

Big Bollocks Bobby

Got three kids you say, no problem!  The back seat has the Famous Hamish Highland Hump that your luckiest kid can straddle – Yee Haw!

Come on in and while we prepare the papers and have a Haggis on us.

Haggis Scotlant traditional

Now sit back and relax to our soothing piped in music. (Think Daniel Boone Theme Song)

Big Bobby is dog,

but a gifted dog!

Big Bobby has some Bollocks,

Yes, Big Bollocks!

He was brave, he was fearless

and all the girls just said YES.

Big Bobby is a dog,

A very bow-legged dog!

With a whoop and a whimper,

He’s a winner and a natural born limper.

What a Bollocks! What a do-er!

What a car dream-come-er-true-er was he!

CONGRATULATIONS – you are approved.  Here’s your keys and and 30 second warranty.  Thanks for shopping Famous Hamish Hot Rods and Hot Haggis To Go.

I am a mutt!

I love Twitter.  No where do I get as much writing material than I do from this one social media site.  Recently I was in a discussion with a British chap and we discussed lineage.  I have never contacted  I do not want to know my heritage, because I am afraid it will reveal a sorted history of gene mutations.  I do know this, my great grandmother was full blood Cherokee, who married a man of Irish ancestry.  That makes me an Irokee Okie.  However, the rest of my lineage I am unsure of, as my mother’s father was adopted.  He may have been German with his blond hair and blue eyes.  That then would make me a Germirokee Okie.  Are you getting the picture now?  I don’t want to know my heritage.

My British twitter friend has a thing for Viking’s and the terror they brought upon poor Anglo/Saxons.  He also mentions being surrounded by Eskimos and that I might be a Viking in disguise.  Actually I think I might be part Pict because of my love for watching Braveheart and dressing up in a kilt costume for parties.  That just might make me part Scottish.  Heck I don’t know what I am!  I have some red tint to my hair, and was born with blue eyes, which are now brownish-green. OMG – I am a mutant!  I now believe in ancient aliens.  Prometheus was a documentary, not a science fiction flick.  Which means I am mutated alien.  DNA is sure a nasty prankster.

If you ask me about my heritage, I won’t belabor the point as I have above.  You’d need therapy thereafter because you’d start questioning your own heritage and find out your mother was a hamster and your father an elderberry, and that you came from the isle of hamberry.  To keep you from going insane, I’ll just let you know I am a mutt born in Texas, now living in Oklahoma. Oklahoma is next to Arkansas where DNA testing has proved impossible and the term “kissing cousins”, well, I won’t go there, as that creates a new species – mutated mutts.