Could Otis the Town Drunk Be Funny Today?

James Barraford
Beach Sand Kicker
Published in
4 min readAug 17, 2016

Wednesday at the Stoplight is a weekly look at the serious and the absurd, the funny and the sweet, with some old-fashioned curmudgeon snark thrown in. These are the stream of consciousness thoughts I have while waiting at the stoplight.

While watching The Andy Griffith Show reruns I marvel at the nonchalance of the townspeople regarding Otis the town drunk. He uses the Mayberry town jail as his personal sleep-it-off Motel 6. Could Otis exist on TV today?

My elementary school used to show the movie “The Lottery” every year. The Lottery, based on the award-winning short story by Shirley Jackson, depicts a creepy town where each year the townspeople gather to draw slips of paper with the fathers picking for each family. The father who draws the winning slip has his family come forward to start round two. Round two means someone in that family is going to die. A mother is stoned to death at the end to ensure a good harvest. While the story is powerful, I never understood why 5th and 6th graders were shown the movie in class. I have a hard time believing that film is shown to young children in today’s environment. I remember watching The Lottery in the early 70’s and wondering why dad didn’t take one for the team.

People who name all their children with the same first initials should have to draw slips of paper in the remake of “The Lottery”. It’s not cute, it’s not precious. It shows you’re trying way too hard to be clever… and it’s not working.

I’m waiting for Discovery Channel to show “Raging ex-wife with a machete and she knows how to use it” week.

I’d prefer our next Russian installed American president be Pussy Riots.

Your matching monogrammed shirt and cuff links screams smug. Only those in preschool need to have their names attached to their attire.

Since when do young children decide what they eat? This newfangled nonsense of multiple meals for the family pits child against parent in a battle most parents are losing. Watching children over and over tell their parents what they will and won’t eat and seeing the parent acquiesce to the child raises the entitlement level to Defcon 100. When your kid reaches 18, the rest of us get to deal with the little bastard. DCF won’t be called if you send your child to bed without dinner because they just wanted cheese and pasta and you insisted on grilled fish and vegetables.

Speaking of eating… it’s time for truth in TV advertising. Fast food commercials need to be filmed in ICU’s and then segway into the cemetery as the family buries dad. Perhaps the employees at his favorite McHeartAttack franchise could be the pallbearers.

Do Southerners consider spots on reality TV shows a job promotion?

One expression that drives me insane: “They died doing what they wanted”.

No, they didn’t. They were doing something they wanted to do (usually something they shouldn’t have been doing) and then happened to die doing it (for the oldsters, think Nelson Rockefeller). As much as I enjoy “cuddle time” with Mrs. B, clutching my chest just before dotting the I and crossing the T won’t make me feel any better in that last split second before the lights go out.

I can’t speak for Mrs. B.

Vintage song of the week: Blowin’ Free by the underrated English rock band Wishbone Ash. From the superb 1972 album Argus.

Financial advice to young athletes — for your 18th birthday, get a vasectomy. You’ll thank me when you’re 30 and not homeless with warrants out for your arrest for failure to pay child support warrant. It’s money well spent.

The NFL preseason has kicked off and there’s something the league should do to send ratings into the Van Allen Belt. Stop fighting legal betting on NFL games, embrace it, and partner with the casinos to grow it. Australia allows betting on National Rugby League games and watching the games on Australian TV takes on a whole new dimension as the announcers mention the changing odds during the game. Imagine Al Michaels on Sunday Night Football cursing the Giants kicker for that missed 54 yard field goal just before halftime because Al had long odds on the kicker making a first half field goal over 50 yards.

Divorces would skyrocket, but with the sunshine some rain must fall.

Follow me on Twitter at @Barraford

email thoughts, complaints, slaps on the back, or go to hell’s at jamesbarraford@gmail.com.

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James Barraford
Beach Sand Kicker

Personal essays and breezy thoughts from the middle of the pack