Hopalong Clyde. Or Roffle Mayo!

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This amounts to resending stuff I wrote years ago for the Nlist. Had a good time writing and a good time listening to all the laughs. I figure there are lots of people here will be ecounterig Hopalong Clyde for the first time and so I expect to here some more laughs. It's (mostly) fictional (I might as well tell you now, even though you'd figure it out pretty quick).

The original title for this post was "ROFFLE MAYO"


Howdy pardners!

This is my cowboy friend, Hopalong Clyde's contribution to high art: Its a hit country song! It takes some introduction though:

Put on your cowboy hat, while you read about this song and think of Ol' Johnny Cash, kinda talking and kinda sangin' (as best he could). Give her a rhythm like Folsom Prison Blues with some quirky pauses and under-your-breath muttering. This here is about a keyboard cowboy, not at all pleased with his love life.

Oh, yeah! You know the Inner Net abbreviation ROFLMAO which means "Rolling On the Floor Laughing MY Axe Off" (or something like that)? Our narcoleptic cowboy that wrote this here song, Hopalong Clyde, thinks you can say it out loud like in conversations. His schoolin' was done in a one room school way high in the Rocky Mountains and he was taught to sound things out phonetically and so ROFLMAO comes out sounding like "Roffle Mayo."

How else you gonna say it?

Here's this country song he wrote:


ROFLMAO Over You, Pretty Baby

[sanging] You think that I'm just lazy. You think that I'm too slow,

[sanging] Just a narcoleptic cowboy out here in Idaho.

[grumble] Hmmm Hmmm

[mutter]..(Almost cain't hear this)...Honey, I know where you kin go!

[sanging] And I'm Roffle Mayo over you, Pretty Baby!

[sanging] You may think the third grade's 'bout as far as I could get,

[sanging] But I know how to say things on this here Inner Net!

[Mutter]...Dang rights!

[sanging] And I'm just Roffle Mayo over you, pretty baby!


I suppose this song needs some polishing! Anybody that knows me would get quite a laugh over me seeming to be a cowboy, just because I am a friend of Hopalong Clyde. The only muscle I have is between my ears and besides that, I hate dirt and hard work. Also I prefer music that has more than two chords in it. But ol' Hopalong and I are good buddies anyway and we don't hafta discuss the humanities.

Clyde wrote another verse after he thought about it a while. I'll send you some more after I rest up.


I'm narolepti. That is, N without much C!

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Gotta tell you, I traveled some miles out into the sagebrush desert to visit Hopalong Clyde (the narcoleptic cowboy from Idaho). Not many of us PWN around these parts and its good to see him, even if he is a bit cranky.

"Hey there, city slicker!" he says, "How do you like my new dog? Oh, you dint see him yet. He'll show up in a while. His name is Adobe."

Seems Clyde made a trip to Stanford for medical reasons. It was the spinal tap thing they did back then to test for this hypocretin substance they had discovered. Stanford had a bunch of dogs and Clyde thought there was something about one dog dog that "spoke to him" and he "admired" that pup so much, why one of those science boys there let him have it. Clyde had asked, "What do you call 'im?"

Science boy thought it was a general question and so he said "He's a Dobie." That is, a Doberman type dog. But Clyde thought he was speaking of the dog's name, and he was called Adobe.

Hopalong Clyde says that they had a whole kennel full of those dogs and he was astonished when he was told, "Every one of them is Adobe."

Clyde says, "Well I guess it ain't too strange. I know about this fighter named George [Foreman] that named all his kids George. Even the girls!" You can't believe everything that Clyde says.

Adobe came padding in after a while. Yup, turns out he was a cataplectic dog! Those Dobie's will have C attacks over the joy of food or even when somebody new comes to visit.

Clyde said, " I figgered you gave him about a ten minute surprise. But that's nothing, you shoulda been here when the collie over't Fort Mudge went into heat! I couldn't get him onto his feet for days."

Then Clyde kinda muttered, the way he does, " 'Course the same cataplexy thing happens to me. I remember the time that Pretty Baby got frisky and..... Oh, guess I cain't tell you about that."

After we sat around for a long time, feet up against the old parlor stove, not talking hardly at all the way we do, why he picked up his gittar and sang, as best he could, his new verse about "ROFLMAO Over You, Pretty Baby!" It's hard to explain about how he does it. He "Sangs" for a bit and then kinda talks/complains some, gets quiet like he went to sleep, but manages to jump right back in on cue. Its kinda purdy.

[sanging] Now you was being helpful when this to me you said,

[sanging] I just needed someone for to help me sleep in bed.

[mutter]- Hmmm. Hmmm.

[mutter]- Don't need your help! I already KNOW how to sleep!

[pause]-- I'm danged good at it too.

[sanging] That's why I'm Roffle Mayo over you!"


[pause] [snore]

Then he props one eye open and sings, "Pretty Baby."

NIte nite,


Reporting from Fort Mudge, Idaho

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That last time I had visited Hopalong Clyde, the narcoleptic cowboy (retired) from Idaho, I saw that things weren't going well. He was born skinny, but he had become even more stringy. Seems that he never was fond of eating anyway, but now on his own out there in the desert, he found the labor of riding into Fort Mudge for groceries and then cookin' the stuff was more trouble than it was worth.

"I cooked for myself until I ran out of clean dishes" he said "and also if you know how to conserve energy like I can, why you don't need to eat so much!" He showed me his bag of Cheetos and some beer.

My first surprise came during my latest visit as he opened the door and said, "My gawd Emo, you're skinny! You look like a thy-mometer standing there!" Clyde and I have a lot in common.

Next, to avoid me having a "heart attackt" he warned me that Pretty Baby had moved in. Wha? Last I heard he was chasing her off with a stick, being insulted by her wanting to HELP just as if he were some itty bitty baby. But it really hurt her feelings. She got all teary eyed, or as he put it in his own poetic and sensitive manner,

"Tears as big as cow turds!"

Well this crying business caved him in. It came to him in a flash that his cowboy pride was just another name for stoopid and he put his arm around her and said,

"Ah.... Come on in, Pretty Baby. You can help all you want. 'Specially about that sleeping business."

So, being warned that she was in the house, I went on inside and, by golly, there she was! Poking food and vitamins in him, and banging pots and pans like she was killing snakes. Took her only one second to push aside Adobe the Dobie so I could enter. Adobe had swooned over the joy of my visit.

She had one of those bandana things over her hair. The ladies all do that when they are really, really serious about cleaning up stuff. She was moving so fast we had to duck into the corner to keep from being runned over. Already he was griping that everthing had been moved around and he couldn't find a dang thing! She rolled her eyes and gave me a wink, knowing that he was only embarrassed about the mess he'd made. I knew everything would be just fine.

Clyde says, "Looky there! She's as cute as a puppy and just as smart."

And I said, "Clyde, that girl is made out of sunshine and that makes her brighter than all of us. Besides, what's best for us narcoleptic guys is a woman that needs to be needed."

He says, "Yep! Say, Emo, you aren't as dumb as I thought you was."



I'm narcoleptic. I can sleep with anybody!

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=============Automatic Behavior and the Clothesline=================

So, I drove out to Clyde's homestead place out there in the sagebrush desert.. Things are improving. Pretty Baby has done a lot and it is not so trashy looking. It is looking rather domestic, even has a dog in the front yard, and I see a pair of Clyde's Levi's flapping in the breeze.

However the dog, Adobe, was just lying in the dirt. I knew this was because he was so pleased to see me that he got one of his C attacks. He would be wagging his stump if he could. So I gave him a nice pet, making sure that he was comfortable, and I balanced a doggy biscuit on his nose and went on inside.

Pretty Baby had the coffee ready, along with a large bowl of sugar. For me, it takes a ton of sugar to overcome the bitterness even though I'm talking about the pre-Starbucks stuff that is so relatively mild. I find that coffee is a necessity but it's not much help for staying awake. I am now immune to the caffiene (in my daily gallon) but I can get a pretty good headache if I don't get my fix.

Say, did I ever tell you about Pretty Baby? She has this look about her that you could pour on your pancakes. Sweet. And that's not all! Oh my! She has this ..uh... Oh yeah. Gotta get back to the story here:

Clyde came fogging out of the back room. There was something odd about his appearance that you will understand in a minute. It was one of those deals where you look the other way and say nothing so as to not cause embarrassment.

Clyde often does not greet me, he just starts talking like I have been there all day and today he started right in with,"Dang narkleupsy! I hafta laugh at m'self or else I'd cry. I come out here to get something and now I fergit what it was. Dang! If I see it, I'll remember it!"

"That's easy," I says "Just look out there on the clothesline."


Reporting from Fort Mudge, Idaho

"I'm narcoleptic. Sleep is my life!"

-Jack Soo on the Barney Miller Show-

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I drive a 1973 MGB. This is a British, sporty car that is lighthearted and fun and it is a fine Person-With-Narcolepsy car. It keeps me alert because it has cataplexy attacks, right in the middle of traffic! I must always be planning for this possibility, like a pilot keeping an eye out for emergency landing sites, just in case. I have removed the cataplectic converter but it doesn't help. Did you know why the British don't make computers? They can't make them leak oil.

So there I was rattling and laughing down Frozen Dog Road in the direction of Fort Mudge when I saw Hopalong Clyde's antique Ford off to the right where those car ruts show the way to his homestead. PHHTTtttt! My little car had a cataplexy attack right there. That's why I call her "Old Flameout." It is no big deal. I only have to wait a while and away she goes again. I couldn't drive through the muddy ruts this time of year anyway because my little, sporty car high-centers on a beer bottle.

So I walked over to Clyde's machine. It was kind of spooky, engine and Clyde and Adobe seeming to be dead! Oh, Adobe is Clyde's best friend, a genuine narcoleptic Doberman dog from Stanford. Being an expert napper myself, I wasn't too concerned but it sure looked like Clyde had tipped his c'boy hat forward and leaned back on the saddle and died. Adobe is not partial to hats but he looked about the same. I tapped on the door and they both jumped and then Clyde popped one eye open and gave me a slow stare that could have come from Jack Palance back when he used to impersonate rattlesnakes. I expected him to pull out some massive six shooter and shoot off the hangy-down part of my ear. Then I watched as Clyde softened up as he remembered who he was, and who I was, and which world he was in now.

"Dang it, Emo you know very danged well not to wake me up unless I have been a-sleeping at least ten dang minutes," (Or else he comes up fighting). "Dang!". So I told him that, dang, he had been dozing at least a danged hour.

"Wal, how can you know that?"

I said that it is an old Cherokee Indian trick. You just cup your hands around the exhaust pipe and see how warm it is and then estimate the time.

I guess you didn't know that I am part Cherokee, did you? All that my fambly knows about this is that our ancient Cherokee ancestor smoked a pipe and was named Nancy.

Clyde said, "Yeah, I remember your Injun tricks. What was that? If you cain't find a mossy tree, why just look for satellite dishes. They all point South."

Clyde said that he was coming back from town when he and the car and Adobe, all three of them, caught the EDS and they crapped out right there. I asked was he trying to tell me that he has a (hee hee!) narcoleptic car?

He says, "Yep! They didn't make many of these thangs. People didn't like 'em. This here car is an EDSel."

So we abandoned our trusty steads and began walking. One of those walks where I go to pull my foot out of the mud and my boot stays behind and then I swear a blue streak because I lost my balance and pushed my socking foot into the mush.

Clyde got amused and this was not the place for that. Clyde has this little problem and he cannot really laugh. The best he can do is go "murpphh mrphh!" and then he gets all wobbly and has to sit down. Well, he sat down alright, butt first in the mud, but I was OK because I don't have much trouble with cataplexy. Still, it was a good trick to prop up Clyde so as to keep his whiskers out of things while I was trying to get my sock off so I could put a more or less clean foot into my boot and maybe pull it out of the mud. I guess we made a pretty good sight!

Up the slope a ways, on a flat lava rock, Pretty Baby was standing by her fat-tire bicycle. She was just a-laughing at us!

You can't help but smile when you see somebody else having a good time.


Reporting from Fort Mudge, Idaho.

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Well, kids, I din't like how this thing strings out in one long story, getting longer 'n longer. So I have moved the newer stories over to the Free Writing area and will send a whole new subject name for each individual little story. Remember though, that they will show up in reverse order and sometimes you want to read the older post first. So just go to The Legend of Really Sleepy Hollow first and then work your way forward.

Oh, and I have managed to add a few pictures too! I think you have to sign in as a member to view them but it can be done. Ain't science wunnerful?

Nite nite

ol' Emo

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Thank you Emo for doing this! I have always enjoyed your posts and stories! Keep up the good work. Have a Merry Christmas and a great 2012!

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