I am a gopher, a gullible gopher. In a few minutes I will be headed off in my old ‘52 rust bucket Chevy pickup, headed for Home Depot to fill a list of needs given to me by my husband; two fancy exterior doors, 3.5 inch rounded corner hinges, wood thresholds along with 6 outlet covers, 2 double switch covers, one electric outlet and other do nothings. I am his gopher. I gopher this, I gopher that and I gopher his ornery tricks. I am his gullible gopher. A rather delightful gullible gopher story to share to add spice to your Thanksgiving day. My husband and I are working on a clogged toilet at one of our rental homes. We know the main sewer line is ok being recently cleaned and serviced, even video camera inspected. Never in my life did I imagine being able to look inside a sewer pipe, to give a house a colonoscopy. Heck, we still use rotary phones; this new technology is creepy. Tenants have a five year old boy. He is trouble, of course, as are all boys. This is why we decided to have a girl instead of a boy. Girls are so much better than boys. My husband tells me the boy probably flushed a ball or a toy down the toilet and we will have to manually dislodge whatever is stuck in the toilet innards. We have been through this before; last time this was a squirt gun, a boy’s squirt gun. He goes through the steps, turn off the water, bail water from the toilet, unbolt, lift off the four inch drain pipe. All looks clean and clear; something is stuck internally in the toilet. Small bathroom, we do not want to hoist this toilet outside to avoid splashing out water on our carpet. He tilts this toilet up forty-five degrees, “I’ll hold the toilet, Taha, you run a finger up in its bottom, maybe you can dislodge the ball or toy.” Ok, fine, I am a gullible git. I poke an index finger up the bottom of this toilet. Feels like cold mash potatoes. A bit of yelp leaps from mouth when I realize this is not cold mash potatoes. Drawing out my finger, sure enough, on the end of my finger there is a golfball size wad of “stuff” which looks much a mixture of peanut butter, diced carrots, green peas and lots of wet toilet paper, all generously splashed with creamed corn. I would have killed my husband, would have if not for causing him to drop our toilet which would make a mess. I act all mad but am not really. He holds up a finger to signal me, “Wait a minute before you smear me.” I do. He sets down the toilet then instantly ducks under my out reaching arm and heads for the backdoor. I give him a good chase around the backyard, screaming and hollering, all that. Neighbors know we are crazy. Never intended to catch him and we end up laughing. This was really stupid of me to stick my finger up the business end of a toilet. Husband holds a garden hose, my finger is rinsed off. No problem. Turns out the boy’s momma and daddy bought him a box of Fred Flintstone toilet paper. Comes in a box and dispenses like pull out Kleenex tissue paper, “When did you buy this for him?” I ask. “Yesterday.” His Flintstone toilet paper box is empty. No brainer. Okpulot Taha Choctaw Nation

Keep it up. Bashing Hillary must be fun for you guys.