Simon hated the coleslaw job. Each order at the Blue Fish Inn came with an order of the slaw. People could choose from either the thick slaw or the runny slaw. Both were gross to Simon. All day long, he was putting a scoop of the gross cabbage stuff on a lettuce leaf that was supposed to be some kind of symbol of life or something. He didn’t know for sure, all he knew was to scoop and deliver. Soon he would have his license and the money to buy his first car.

Occasionally, the thick coleslaw got too think. Simon would mix a little of the runny slaw into the white vat of grossness and all would be well. On this Sunday at brunch, the thick stuff was proving to be too think. So as he often did, Simon poured some runny in and got a long handled spoon to mix it up.

As he began to stir the yuck, the normally smooth consistency of the Blue Fish Inn’s coleslaw was not right. Simon felt like there was something in the slaw. Maybe a spoon or a fork from the kitchen dropped in. He got out his long, black rubber gloves, put them on, and began fishing around in the coleslaw which now held the consistency of the high standards set by the owner, Manny and the chef, Felipe.

Feeling something in the tub, Simon grabbed ahold and lifted the object out. He was shocked to find that he was holding a human arm, elbow to wrist, with no hand. He stepped back in shock. Felipe, the chef, noticed Simon’s reaction and asked him what was wrong.

“There’s an arm in this coleslaw,” he said.

“Oh, that, there’s always one in there. Manny, saw Motel Hell and thought the idea of putting body parts in the slaw would be funny. I guess we missed taking that one out. Don’t worry about it.”

Simon was a bit confused. He ran through as many thoughts as he had at such a young age. None of them brought any danger to him and all of them interfered with his ability to save for a new car, so he threw the handless arm back in the vat of thick coleslaw and went back upon his business of loading up the lettuce.

Robert Woods (A Local Dude)

That’s it,
They finally got themselves together.

I’m back to driving my bus,
The normal stuff is taking over.

“Hey, Billy, sit down.”

People are complaining about gas,
Ranting about Trump, all is back to normal.

At least they are going to the games now
And supporting the school.

(So ends the story of Taylorville and the peculiar ways that people see the world… Thank you for reading this throughout 2018!)


Stop believing sports are heavenly,
Stop thinking STEM is the only way,
Understand people need to learn how to be people,
Understand we need each other.

There is no scholarship guarantee,
Playing time is earned,
Bands are there for a reason,
Sports and music can go together.

But only when perspectives are open,
When perspectives are malleable,
When perspectives are given a chance
To see everything.


Limited thinkers,
Working from an entitled perspective,
Singe everything around them,
Mostly it’s people who get burned,
Often it’s the single-celled dumplings
Who started the mayhem
Suffering the greatest degree of heat.


On those days,
When reality strikes,
Letting a person know,
Life is not realizing their dream
The true character of that person
Will wake up.

Putting blame out there
Only serves to start fires
That spread through other egos
Bring clusters of blazes
In the anger of limited thinking.


Little towns, big towns,
It doesn’t matter,
Groupthink and ego
Don’t mix.

People complain of entitlements,
But they live with a belief
That they should
Get something.

A spat about scholarships
Was nothing more than a deflection
Set forth by a group unable to accept
Their kids weren’t good enough.

It hurts,
It sucks, but
Sometimes that’s the way
It goes.

Ralph Higgonbothem (Taylorville Schools Superintendent)

Well, there you have it,
None of that mess stuck to me.
We saved some money,
We took a hit in public relations arena,
But now, I get to implement changes.
The local districts will be envious of our new program.

The headhunters will come looking.
I’m thinking south…

Mark Watts (Former Athlete, Eight Bars Parent)

This is bull,
My college coach was an ass,
My high school coach was an ass,
My dad was my coach, he was an ass.

Now my son smokes weed,
Doesn’t want to play baseball,
And is an all-around ass of a kid.
Coaching probably made him that way.

Sam Brown (Sales, Music Friends of Sports Parent)

I hope everyone knows
That we were in this for the kids,
For the coaches, and
The integrity of the school district.

One group doesn’t get to determine
How everything goes for our school
And those sports parents
Were out of control.

The band could use a new trailer,
We have a great deal of stuff to transport to games,
Did you know the bands also compete for the school?
Any financial support would be appreciated.