The Most Oversexed People

I'm closing out the festivities for the year with my version of everyone's favorite party game -- feel free to quote it at your New Year's orgy -- Who are the Most Oversexed People?

Oh yeah, this makes me warm just thinking about it... I'm looking around, hoping no one notices me at my table. I'm typing this in the public library. It might be hard, even embarrassing, trying to account for my flushed look or the uneasy shifting in my chair, trying not to bump into the lower part of the desk. Keep it up like this, I could make next year's list. But, no, dirty old men didn't make this year's list. There's something wrong with their trying too hard, one surmises; they're overlooked out of spite

I've been thinking a long time who would make the list, so I'm sure I've got it right. By the way, the list is in no particular order, because all of them are oversexed. With the notable exception of Auctioneers. Auctioneers are by far the most oversexed people. Enough foreplay, here's the list:

Dads who take their kids out too much -- Yes, I know what you're thinking, There's no one more adorable than Dads who take their kids out too much. I know, that's the point! Why do you think they do it? Certainly not out of a great maternal instinct suddenly kicking in. You could argue they want to be a good role model for the kid, they want to spend quality time with the kid, or a dozen different idiotic things that depend on innocent motives. Don't be fooled! Dads have two basic interests, fooling the wife and impressing the ladies. Of course the wife always has her suspicions. At some level she knows her husband's devious mind. She knows he's into these fantasies. But even she can be fooled when he voluntarily, even eagerly takes little Johnny out on a snowy night. No innocent man would ever do that. That's one husband who's purely oversexed and looking for more. He doesn't mind being a little cold if it means he'll be snuggling up real soon with a hot neighbor gal.

Clowns -- I grew up liking clowns. Before movies wrongly portrayed them as psychos and killers, the exact opposite of a few clowns I've known. But even I know that to classify clowns as oversexed is 100% accurate. Let's set aside the negative spin they've gotten as killers and psychos. The only thing I'm interested in is how oversexed they are. I think it's obvious. Look how defensive they are. Face paint and costumes are clearly an attempt to hide their true person and motives. Talk about wearing your diagnosis on your sleeve! The big flouncy costume, the face pain, the tiny hats and flowers; you have to be aware there's a real person hiding under all that. No doubt someone with the vilest instincts who'd act on those instincts given half a chance. To me it's all sexual. They back you into a corner -- which with flowers and a nice meal might be welcome -- then you find out... They have only one thing on their oversexed little mind, sex. And maybe spawning a few someday-clowns.

Police -- I keep my eye on the police. I've been watching a lot of videos involving the police, car chases, and other arrests. And I notice one unifying thread with our protectors in blue, As long as the camera's running, They do it by the book. That is, they're perpetually on the straight and narrow way. There's a protocol and they aim to keep it. There's a pecking order with the force, and the slightest variance from what is expected, demanded, is enough to demote them so far down they'd need to personally solve three or four bank robbery cases a day to ever again see the light of day. Whenever you have that kind of pressure, you counteract it via the instincts. Number One of which is sex. I don't know what it'd be like to be a police officer's spouse, and I don't want to find out. I'm pretty sure it involves a lot of mock arrests, continually "reading their rights," and a lot of searching for the evidence, usually including strip searches. The police have one thing on their mind during the day, the strict law. But at night, it's all lawlessness, forbidden fruit up the yin yang.

People Who Point At Others -- This one is more nebulous, people who point at others. But in a way I see the same rationale I had with the police. It's the old psychological lore, that those who are "moral to a fault" themselves have plenty of faults. Like in the song Harper Valley PTA. My own pointing out of other people's faults is coincidental and only done for educational purposes.

Nude Cherubs -- See that little New Year's fellow in the buff? He's got clothes, he just chooses not to wear them. In this case he's a little too close to the clowns. By intention!

Auctioneers -- Then there's auctioneers! Know what I mean? If I made a list of the most oversexed people for the last 50 years, no doubt auctioneers would hold the Number One spot every year. I could write a dissertation on the subject, but I'll try to keep it brief. Ask yourself what auctioneers are good at. First, no one appraises value and desirability like an auctioneer. They have an eye for the good stuff. They know the psychological ins and outs of selling what they've got. They might have a broken desk for sale, but they've been through its drawers and they know there's still lots of good use. Second, they're fast talkers. Just try to resist an auctioneer's charms, they'll plead, wheedle, and beg, a whole eight pages of begging squeezed into seven seconds. They just open their mouth and in the next breath you're in bed, and the auctioneer has rung up the sale. Daddies, keep your daughters out of auction barns.

Get Your T-Day Turkey by Drone

After all these years of lagging behind -- check any key index -- my town has something to finally be proud of, something to put us on the map. I'm hoping this will spur greater tourism, as folks will come from near and far to see where it happened. Certainly it'll be a boost to our reputation, as we'll be able to claim the title, "Home of the First Drone-Delivered Turkey."

Those are the larger issues, but the main thing is how attractive this is for the local consumer, not having to go to the grocery store and stand in long lines, your temperature rising, the feeling, cramped in as you are, that you're going to explode and massacre everyone. We're looking forward to getting rid of that. Because it's Thanksgiving, folks! A sacred holiday, a day for family, friends, and food, not erupting in bloodshed at the local supermarket.

And finally there's something to celebrate in the field of technology. This is technology that actually enhances life and doesn't detract from it. I used the think the computer and all our other gadgets would be a blessing. Instead, crime against children is up, brutality against women is ever-present, banks are being robbed faster than they can build them, there's shoplifting, arson, and bullying. What's the one thing all those have in common? The perps more often than not have used a computer at some time in the last 15 years.

Plus, this is something I can actually get excited about. I'm like everyone else, as above: I hate the inconvenience of grocery stores. You find a parking space (good luck), you go in, the antibacterial towels for wiping the cart are usually out, then you're jam-packed with other people with the same basic goal in life, hunting and gathering food. You get to the checkout and there's always someone ahead of you. Usually with a squalling kid, nose running. It's almost enough to make you go berserk. Thank God most stores are now open-carry.

Anyway, technology to the rescue! Little drone planes promising the fullest measure of convenience for getting your turkey, greater than anyone could've imagined. That's the way I like it. No fuss, no muss. Just go out, get in line, wait your turn, etc. Then some time, be it an hour, or maybe a few hours, the mighty drone plane will come in with Turkey on Board for you! They'll take your souvenir picture, you load it in the car, and you're off.

Being new, though, with everyone wanting one, there will be a little competition to get your turkey. But don't worry, it'll be fun! When you get to the airport, stop by the main booth and get your bidding number. Then make your way to the runway. No crowding please, there's room for everyone. Pretty soon, the store will have loaded the drone and sent it flying, and it will come into view with a beautiful frozen turkey. Hands will go up fast, of course, because everyone wants one. But wait! With supply and demand, the only fair way is to auction it off. No one should complain. Why do you think you needed the bidding number if you weren't expecting to bid? The auctioneer will start every sale at 49 cents a pound, and depending on how many haven't yet got theirs, it might go for 89 cents a pound, or you could wait till the crowd thins out and get it at the minimum. It's all good. The store will keep sending them while buyers are still present.

Once you've got your turkey -- and checked out the drone, very cool -- the only thing left is to buzz by the store and get everything else you're going to need, dressing, beets, yams, pies, and don't forget you'll probably need a big aluminum pan.

That's what happening this year, exciting enough. But for the future, the sky's the limit! I'm looking forward to the day when someone makes the attempt, the first transatlantic delivery of a turkey by drone to France, with throngs of excited Thanksgiving revelers waiting on the scene.

Lost Ambition -- The Auctioneer's HEP Guy

It's been forever since I've been to an auction. I just feel like I don't need more stuff and somehow I've had the discipline to stick to it. But a decent auction sale can be fun, if you got all the time in the world and don't mind waiting till they come to what you want.

The best fun I've had at auctions was when I was a kid. We used to go to sales on people's farms, and back then kids had the run of the place. We'd be climbing in the barns, swinging from the rafters, getting stuck down in the cracks and crevices of the hay in the mow, etc. If only the adults back then knew! But, as an aside, back then no one cared about liability issues all that much; this was before lawyers could advertise on TV.

We had some favorite auctioneers back then from here in town. I think the son is still alive, at least last time I heard. Although he'd be probably 75 or 80 now, the son and his old dad, once the auctioneer of the family till the son took that spot. You probably know where that put the dad; he became the HEP guy; I frankly don't know if the son was the HEP guy when he was a kid, but probably. We loved these guys.

I even have some auctioneer semi-shirttail relation, and one guy I've known around 50 years whom we used to go to church with. I still see him once in a while. He had cancer in 2001, the same time as my dad. They even sat in easy chairs next to each other getting chemo. But whereas it killed Dad -- they were about the same age -- this other guy is still going strong. And doing his auctions. I went to one of his auctions where it was the place next door to his home! They sold beefburgers right out of their own garage, which doesn't happen often.

His HEP guy -- I think he was a guy I also knew, but can't remember. I do know that there's my semi-shirttail relation who's an auctioneer, and it really could've been him, the HEP guy for him that day. I think they get together, being old church relation also, and help each other out as much as they can. Different, no doubt, from the HEP guys in the big city, although I'm sure they get that HEP guy jive going no matter who they are and who the auctioneer is.

I suppose I ought to clear up the terminology. I don't know if they call them HEP guys where you are. The HEP guy is the head second banana to the main auctioneer, who's in charge of scanning the crowd for bidders. When he sees one, when he sees action, he yells "HEP!", being a slurred way of saying "YES!" or "YEP!" You can also hear them say "HUP!," "YUP!," and other variations, depending on how carried away they get.

What I prefer seeing, and there's no guarantee you're going to see it, is an auctioneer who's shorter and maybe squat, and a HEP guy who's taller, maybe a beanpole. His skinniness and being crazy gangly makes for some comedic stretching, pointing, peering over folks, and looking down on the auctioneer. Who, being the boss, looks up and gives the HEP guy faux dirty looks and just generally questions his abilities as a man. Wow, this is taking me back, the delights of seeing these guys chiding one another.

I remember this one HEP guy. He had a real lazy character, like he almost couldn't be bothered to sell the item. "This is a TV, we think it works. It worked last time they watched it," leading to the auctioneer rolling his eyes and looking disgusted. "It worked last time they watched it," he repeats, like Ollie Hardy, before getting the first dollar bid, at which point the skinny HEP guy really comes to life and starts working the crowd.

Auctioneers always look for a bid about $10 more than the first bid's likely to be. The HEP guy stands there moving his fingers back and forth, soliciting. But they often have to work it down to a dollar, which isn't always that exciting. This one auctioneer was trying to get a decent opening bid on a desk, but just couldn't, leading him to complain, plaintively, "What's wrong with my little desk?" I about cried. The HEP guy looked hangdog too and moved his hands, and I believe they eventually sold that little desk for $25, a decent price. "HEP! HEP! HEP!"

What I'd really like to see, and frankly never have seen, is a HEP guy with an inferiority complex. Like "Always a bridesmaid, never a bride," that kind of "Whoa is me" defeatist attitude. Maybe he comes to the sale a little tipsy, always wishing he might-ever could've moved his lips like the auctioneer, but nothing's ever good enough. Always the second banana. Then he acts out and finally chews out the auctioneer for having the plum job while "Here I stand, forever the HEP guy, always the HEP guy..." Always with the ambition, but always losing out to this, that, and the other auctioneers.

I've been to lots of auctions, but I've never seen one spoiled like that by drama. Incredible discipline.

Missed August 1

So August 2 will have to do.

And you know what that means. I need to put on my best "behind the barn" cowboy, hillbilly auctioneer duds, cinch in my pants real tight, put on my tightest, most pigeon-toed cowboy boots, inwardly angled is what I mean, get on my best brim, put on a bolo, and saunter out to my pile of junk -- then I'll look down at it with a casual, knowing look, able to appraise, to identify both quality and value, look out over my crowd of bargain-seekers, who also mean me a lot of good will, make small talk with a few of them named Cy and Les, arrange my auctioneer microphone, dangled now around my neck, check with the old guy who's catching calls for me, and make sure everyone's got their bidding number.

"Edith's got hamburgers and baked goods over in the trailer, friends, so in case you get hungry, you know where it's at. Also look around, there's something out here for everyone today.

"We're going to start off with this nice television set. It's a good one. Worked the last time they watched it. What are we going to start off with here? Nice TV. All right, let's get it goin' right now, and what will you give me for it? Do I hear five, five, five, five? Four? Three. We got three! And now four, four, four, four. Four! Sir, we've got four. Five, five? This one's ready to go, barely been used, and it is known to have worked at one time. Four, we've got four, and now five, five, five, yup! Five, and now six? Six? Six, once, twice. Sold! Five dollars, number 262!"

The Auctioneer - Part 2

"Hey, all right sir, open the $#@^!in' gate and let the *&%#@^ out, and what are you gonna @$!^@%in' give for 'em?"*

"Well -- there was a boy in Arkansas, who wouldn't listen to his Grandma, when she told him that he should go to school...."

Why in the world did I go to school? I should've dropped out at the earliest moment and gone "behind the barn" and "worked up an awful storm" and "practiced calling bids both night and day." But no, I went to school and got what out of it exactly?

Well, I suppose it's not school's fault, really. I mean, there have to be plenty of auctioneers who weren't drop outs. A few anyway. What does being a drop out and being a successful auctioneer have to do with one another? Probably nothing. It's like anything else, would be my guess. You can drop out and become great at anything. Just as you can drop out and be a miserable failure. The other extreme is you keep going to school and become something. Or you go to school and become a miserable failure.

As to being an auctioneer now, at this late stage in my life, my mouth has probably grown together too much to be supple enough to call bids. I've heard that, that jaws unused will harden, the sockets become gummy, sticky, and can barely move. That's why when you hear elderly people talk, they do a lot of this, "Yahhh, well, Ahh, Huh?" And I'm getting there.

*I threw in a few extra syllables there -- words -- to make the point that I can supplement the cadence and still keep it on beat. Plus it's my way of spitting fury at the fact that I went to school and never became an auctioneer.