May
9
2007
So where did I leave off?.. Oh yeah… 50 yards from the van and feeling like the left side of my face is drooping.
Sooo… We actually make it to the van with less agravation than it would take to describe here. Then its time to load the goods. While I’m trying to get the girl child into the van so I can keep track of her… Auntie instructs #2 son to “Quit standing around!… Get those bags into the van!”… And this with much waving around of the lit ciggie.
So #2 son… being the dutiful child that he is (we raised him to respect his elders)… Grabs a 50 pound sack of dog food that’s jammed into the car and hoists with all of his might… Of course the kid only outweighs this thing by about 25 pounds… What do you suppose happens? Right-O!… Down he goes!… on his back. The bag breaks.
Auntie now screams the boys name and while (inadvertently!) flicking ashes on him… proceeds to inform him just what a clumsy ox he is. Does’nt offer him a hand. Does’nt ask if he’s OK. But she does however… Succeed in reducing the boy to tears.
The girl child is now scrambling over the seats to get a better view as I struggle to get to the middle door to get out of the van. Somehow … I manage to get my feet tangled up in a couple of bags that have mysteriously appeared on the floor behind me… “Sounds like Chips Ahoy! crumbling to me”… I think as I begin falling like a cut tree towards the door that is still closed… Had #1 son been there… He surely would have yelled “Timberrrr!” “This won’t hurt too bad” I think… “I’m mostly gonna hit the seat.” It’s amazing how even though things are happening in slow motion… There’s no time to panic.
Now… I’m not a little guy… I’m pushing 300 pounds… Hard! Ooof!! Head and shoulder into the door… Just miss the glass. Side hits the armrest. Every wisp of air in my body goes away… Simply abandons me. My lungs seem to have forgotten what air is… Not my brain though!.. “Breathe dammit!” … My brain screams… “Or I’ll make you crap your pants!… So help me I will!” “I’m trying!”.. I think back… “I seem to have forgotten how though!”
In the clarity of impending death… I notice that the girl child is now calmly standing over me with a curiously bemused expression on her face… She wants to laugh… She’s not sure of her escape route though… Auntie… meanwhile is oblivious to my plight and is still giving #2 son the once over. “Help!!” …I scream silently to Daddy’s Little Girl… She gets it… So she screams… Loud.
Auntie now makes her way around the van and yanks open the door I’m propped against… Letting me drop another 12 inches which turns out to be just enough to jerk my body sideways enough to kick start my diaphragm. I suck in a big breath just in time to save myself further embarassment. I begin to screeh something to the effect of “get this crap off of my feet!” Little girl is already on the case.
Auntie is now trying to climb into the van over me ostensibly to help pick me up… Did I mention that Auntie is 5 feet tall and weighs about 100 pounds?.. And that she’s 80?… And has a bad back?… And I’m in a van?… Full of seats?… And a hyperactive 9 year old? … Did I mention that Auntie had a lit cigarette in her hand?… which she instinctively transferred to her mouth and clenched between her gums… Did I mention that Auntie has no teeth?… I’m sorry… I thought I did.
As she claws her way over my bulk… Hot ash falls on my face… Now I’m Moving! Auntie loses her perch and start to fall backwards… Time slows… Clarity… “Self”… I say to myself… “If she hits the ground … You, my friend will be dealing with a broken hip.”… “Forget your pain”… “Save yourself that agony”… Somehow… I snag the front of the fanny pack.. She comes to a dead halt. Cigarette still held firmly in her gums. She puffs.. Steps backward … and calmly asks if I’m OK.
I’m not. But I say I am. In the mean time… #2 son has wisely chosen to not get involved and to take advantage of his reprieve from Auntie’s wrath and get to work picking up dog food. He’s raided one of Auntie’s ubiquitous stashes of grocery bags that she stashes in any available space … Just in case we need them (of course the van needs at least 100 of them) and the boy is industriously loading about 5 pounds each with dog food. He’s got maybe 4 ready. Auntie is pleased. Vindication shines in her eyes.
So… I struggle through the pain… in my head, back, neck and foot… And we get the van loaded. It’s been over four hours since we left the house… Did I mention that Wal Mart is five minutes away? It’s hot… The van smells like Old Roy dog food… Each kid and Auntie have a bag of loose dog food in their laps… It’s very quiet. The kids sense that old dad’s not in the mood for any hijinks… Auntie is sulking… I’ve snapped at her to put her damn cigarette down and help bag dog food. I’ll live to pay for that transgession… It was a half of a cig. Tomorrow’s another day.
May
9
2007
I’m 65 today, and the Armed Forces say I’m too old to track down terrorists. (You can’t be older than 35 to join the military.)
They’ve got the whole thing backwards. Instead of sending 18-year-olds off to fight, they ought to take us old guys. You shouldn’t be able to join a military unit until you’re at least 35 .
For starters:
Researchers say 18-year-olds think about sex every 10 seconds. Old guys only think about sex a couple of times a day (say what?), leaving us more than 28,000 additional seconds per day to concentrate on the enemy.
Young guys haven’t lived long enough to be cranky, and a cranky soldier is a dangerous soldier. If we can’t kill the enemy we’ll complain them into submission. “My back hurts! I’m hungry! Where’s the remote?”
An 18-year-old hasn’t had a legal beer yet and you shouldn’t go to war until you’re at least old enough to drink. The average old guy, on the other hand, has consumed 126,000 gallons of beer, and a jaunt through the desert heat with a beer and an M-60 would do wonders for the old beer belly.
(Note there are 24 hours in a day and 24 bottles in a case…another convenient way to measure time!) Yeah, well, not so sure about that part …..
An 18-year-old doesn’t like to get up before 10 a.m.
Old guys always get up early to pee.
If captured we couldn’t spill the beans because we’ve forgotten where we put them. In fact, name, rank, and serial number would be a real brainteaser.
Boot camp would be easier for old guys. We’re used to getting screamed and yelled at and we like soft food. We’ve also developed an appreciation for guns. 
We like them almost better than naps.
They could lighten up on the obstacle course however. I’ve been in combat and didn’t see a single 20-foot wall with rope hanging over the side, nor did I ever do any pushups after completing basic training. I can hear the Drill Sgt now, “Get down and give me … ER … One.”
Actually, the running part is kind of a waste of energy. I’ve never seen anyone outrun a bullet.
An 18-year-old has the whole world ahead of him. He’s still learning to shave, to carry on a conversation, and to wear pants without the top of his butt crack showing and his shorts sticking out. He’s hasn’t figured out that a pierced tongue catches food particles, and that a 400-watt speaker in the back seat of a Honda can rupture an eardrum, and that a baseball cap has a brim to shade eyes, not the back of his head.
These are all great reasons to keep our kids at home to learn a little more about life before sending them off into harm’s way.
Let us old guys track down those dirty rotten cowards who attacked us on September 11. The last thing an enemy would want to see right now is a couple of million old farts with attitudes.
May
8
2007
“He can compress the most words into the smallest idea of any man I know.”
Abraham Lincoln
“I didn’t attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it.”
Mark Twain
“I feel so miserable without you, it’s almost like having you here.”
Stephen Bishop
May
8
2007
Deserted Beehives, Starving Young Stun Scientists
By Dan Vergano and Patrick O’Driscoll
USA Today Tuesday 01 May 2007
“The bees were gone,” David Hackenberg says. “The honey was still there. There’s young brood (eggs) still in the hive. Bees just don’t do that.”
On that November night last year in the Florida field where he wintered his bees, Hackenberg found 400 hives empty. Another 30 hives were “disappearing, dwindling or whatever you want to call it,” and their bees were “full of a fungus nobody’s ever seen before.”
The discovery by Hackenberg, 58, a beekeeper from Lewisburg, Pa., was the first buzz about a plague that now afflicts 27 states, from the East Coast to the West. Beekeepers report losses of 30% to 90% of their honeybee hives, according to a Congressional Research Service study in March. Some report total losses.
Now a nationwide investigation, congressional panels and last week’s U.S. Department of Agriculture scientific workshop swarm around the newly named “colony collapse disorder.” Says the USDA’s Kevin Hackett, “With more dead and weakened colonies, the odds are building up for real problems.” (MORE)
May
8
2007
From very early times, Thai laypersons have assigned traditional styles and attitudes of Buddha images to specific days of the week. A devotee might keep in their house or work place the image assigned to his/her birth day of the week. This is purely folk belief. The image’s attitude or posture portrays different events in the Buddha’s life, according to parables that were written well after he entered parinibbana around 543 BC. During his lifetime Buddha did not encourage believers to create statues in his image. He did allow the wheel of Dhamma law to be created to remind his followers of spreading the virtues of Dhamma. Buddha images assigned to represent the Days of the Week were derived much later. At a temple these images are arranged on a long counter at which believers pay respect by dropping coins in collection dishes. The sight of a Buddha image brings a sense of peace; It gives the hope that one may attain the same pure joy that emanates from the figures. (MORE)
May
7
2007
Your brain cells are on the Endangered Species list - Ronnie
Your momma’s so fat she stood in front of the Hollywood sign and it just said H D. – anonymous
His garments are rich but he wears them not handsomely. – Shakespeare
Is your name Dan Druff? You get into people’s hair. – anonymous
You’re a mouse studying to be a rat.- Wilson Mizner
May
6
2007
You wouldn’t know Up from Down if you had three guesses. – Al in San Francisco
Trying to get something of value out of your posts is like trying to squeeze orange juice out of an apple. – MacAddict
You pole-smoking, brother-humping, panty-licking, pus-gobbling, zit-nibbling, wank-brained scuzzbucket! – Mike from GA
If you ever become a mother, can I have one of the puppies?- Charles Pierce
May
6
2007
So now we’ve made it into the Wal Mart and I’ve got a list… Well… My daughter’s got the list… well… She had the list… My head hurts… Turns out she dropped the list at the store entrance while kicking her brother… She runs off to retrieve it… In the meantime… I’m wondering… ” If she knows exactly where she dropped it… why did she not pick it up then?” My head hurts more.
Now Auntie is very protective of the little princess… VERY protective! “Why are you letting her wander around the Wal Mart all by herself?!” she wails, in a voice that has the nearest clerk eyeing us suspiciously. “She’s gonna get kidnapped!” Doesn’t matter that I can see the girl from where I’m standing… “Hurry up kid!!” I’m thinking… “She’s gonna blow”… I can tell by the way Auntie’s hands are fluttering around the fanny pack that there’s gonna be a meltdown real soon if’n the kid is not within touching range in about 30 seconds… She makes it… Auntie checks her for missing limbs and we move on.
This is a Super Wal Mart… Milk waaaay to the left… in the back… Everything else we need… waaaay to the right. Did I mentions Auntie’s bad back? We’re still at the front of the store… We can still leave… We don’t.
Milk first! We head right down the center of the store… 30 feet in there’s cookies… Chips Ahoy! “Dad!.. Dad!… Why can’t we get cookies?” “Forget it” I growl… By the time we make the left turn, there are 4 packages of Chips Ahoy! in the cart and Auntie is assuring me that the cookies are hers… did I mention Auntie is diabetic?
On the way to the milk… The kids argue…wander… beg… plead… run each other over… bump into at least three people… and we lose Auntie… Auntie’s wandered off into a side aisle and is fingering a pair of red Crocs in a size 12 when we find her… Of course, she hasn’t answered the kid’s repeated screeches of ” AUNTIE!!”… “AUNTIE!!”… Not even when we are 10 feet away.
We reach the milk 30 minutes after we walked through the door… There’s a kids shirt, a dress and a 12 pack of Bounty paper towels in one of the carts by now… All courtesy of Auntie… Did I mention the 40 rolls of Bounty paper towels already at the house?
We now need dog food, cat food, cat litter, fish food, a collar and ID tag for the new cat (our 4th), deodorant, band aids and light bulbs.
Two and half hours later… I’m shepherding 3 carts, and my 3 charges towards the checkout lanes… All are grumpy… and hungry… And Auntie needs a smoke. Of course… This being Wal Mart… There is not one lane with less than 300 people in line… We pick the one closest to where #2 son runs over my toe with 100 pounds of dog food… Did I mention my ingrown toenail?
Now… We go through the ritual of the line… the kids dash back and forth grabbing and begging for all of the little geegaws that some devious mind at Wal Mart Central has decreed be placed around the registers. Auntie is in Tabloid Heaven… She’s got time to read maybe 3… And while it takes her mind off of cigarettes… I have to be informed of every pound that Oprah has gained and that the Antichrist lives in a trailer park in Kansas and that wrinkles can be cured by a preparation originally discovered by the ancient Egyptians that consists of crocodile dung and beaver fat… This is all gospel as far as Auntie is concerned… Just like Ed McMann’s promises that she’s gonna win $10 million any day now… Of course… Between articles… Auntie is busy approving various and sundry items that I’ve told the children they can’t have.
$287 later… They’re all begging to hit the McDonald’s by the exit… “To go only!” I moan. I’m beaten down into a mere shadow of the guy who looked out of the mirror at me this morning… I’m not sure I’m gonna make it out to the parking lot at this point… let alone home… Please God… Don’t let me die at the Wal Mart! God answers my prayer… Only because He’s got further tribulations for me to endure… We’ve still got to get this stuff home. There’s almost 300 pounds of pet supplies alone in them there carts!
We’re out the door and into traffic with the carts when #2 son yells “DAD!!”… He’s been snagged by the little old lady at the door looking for a receipt… She won’t let him out… Did I mention that I told her that I had 3 carts when she checked my receipt?… Never mind. I park Auntie and the Princess in the cart aisle and head in to rescue the boy… I look back and Auntie’s lighting up.
By the time the boy and I reach the other two… Auntie’s on her second smoke and the girl child has spilled a red slurpee down the front of the white shirt and tan pants she’s wearing… And since there’s no more slurpee… she’s busily digging through the bags for some other sugar laden item to consume… #2 son now feels deprived and an argument ensues regarding what’s fair and what’s not… I’m called in to mediate. Auntie over rules me… cookies are passed out… Another cig is lit… We’re still 50 yards from the van… I’m sure I can feel the left side of my face drooping… Is this what it feels like to have a stroke?
More later.
May
6
2007
So I take the three kids to Wal Mart yesterday… #2 Son …who’s 12… The 9 year old daughter… And Auntie… She’s 80.
The minute we got into the van… They started arguing over who’s going to sit where. Now… Auntie’s got her fav seat and the kids will grab it just to get her started. Five full minutes of “MOVE!!” … “No, YOU MOVE!!” … “That’s MY seat!!” … “Tell her / him to MOVE!!!” … “STOP!!” … “MINE!!!” … “Cut it OUT!!” more than got on my nerves… I was ready to throw them all out. I didn’t
Any way… Got them settled in and got on the road… Then the touching started. Auntie yelled louder than either of the young’uns. As soon as one of the little ones would yell “STOP TOUCHING ME!!” Auntie yells “STOP TOUCHING HIM / HER!!!”… As we crossed the bridge over the interstate… Guess what I was thinking?
So… We make it to Wal Mart with no major injuries and I don’t wreck the van… (Now… In case you’re thinking that I was a passive bystander… I wasn’t… There were the usual threats and admonitions to “sit still”… “Be quiet”… “Don’t make me come back there!”… All the routine stuff… But how do you work in a threat of a time out to an 80 year old?… Respect for the elders and all being taken into the equation.) … Soooo… we’re now in the parking lot… And all three of them make a mad dash to grab a cart… Which promptly devolves into an argument of who’s gonna push the cart… All aimed at me.
The boy says he’s the best choice cause he’s the strongest… OK… We are here to buy a couple hundred pounds of dog food.
The girl puts on her best Daddy’s Little Girl face and pouts that she should push the cart until the dog food goes in cause she won’t be able to push the heavy thing after it’s loaded… Good argument sweetie… Daddy’s little princess is sooo smart in’t she?
Auntie counters with… They’re too wild!… they’ll run people over!… The boy’s mind wanders too easily and the girl’s not got enough experience!… Besides… Auntie needs something to lean on… Sigh.
“OK”… I say doing my best imitation of Solomon the Wise… “Here’s what we’re gonna do” … ” Since we’re getting four 50 pound bags… We’ll use two carts.” Auntie… You get one until its full then I’ll push it… Little Girl… You get to push the other until it’s full and then your brother will take over… But in the meantime he’ll help you steer through the crowd… Everybody good with that?… Let’s roll!
Ten feet from the van… # 2 son screeches… ” Ow… she ran over my foot!”… Auntie stops right in back of a backing out car and walks away from her cart to tend to the wounded boy. The driver of the car blows his horn and Auntie freezes and seems to have forgotten which direction to go… She is now turning around in a circle apparently trying to decide which is more important… The cart or the kid. The kid meanwhile has forgotten all about his foot and is yelling at Auntie to move the cart!
The daughter is now fully engaged in a contest to see who can yell the loudest… Then… I join in by calling out to Auntie… “Hey!… Move the cart!” BIG MISTAKE!!! Auntie now goes into overload mode… She has to reboot like a pre-Pentium windows 95 machine. If she had a screen it would be blue… She stops where she’s at and stares… Her hand goes towards the fanny pack… She’s reaching for a cigarette! … The horn is blowing! CRAP! CRAP!… CRAP! I think… maybe I said it out loud… I don’t know. I do remember thinking.. “We’re not even in the store yet… We can still go home.”… We don’t.
I jog over and grab the cart and mouth “Sorry” to the man in the car…. I give the kids one of my special reserve glares and imperiously point at the store entrance… They shut up and move. I take Auntie by the arm and gently guide her to the sidewalk while pulling the empty cart behind us. Years of experience tell me that Auntie is useless now until she sucks down a cancer stick… We’ll wait.
Of course, the kids are now in the front lobby… Blocking traffic and arguing… people are glaring at them. I tell Auntie to wait by the cart and I’ll be right back… She looks at me and blinks… and puffs… I take off.
I drag the young’uns out side and we wait for Auntie to re-boot… She’s shaken …So I should take her home… But do I? Of course not! From this moment on… Any consequences are on my head.
More Later.
May
5
2007
I’ve changed the template to see if I can get something closer to what I want for this blog… I’m no html guy so I’m kind of running blind. I think I’m going to look for some professional help to get it exactly where I want it.
Then… I can POST AWAY!
BE Patient!… Keep Coming Back
May
5
2007
Of all the people I’ve met you’re certainly one of them. – unknown
She has a nice butter face. Everything looks nice, but her face. – unknown
The finest woman that ever walked the streets.- Mae West
You have the face of a saint. Saint Bernard, that is – anonymous
May
4
2007
What a brazen faced varlet art thou. – Shakespeare
I see that you set this time aside to humiliate yourself. – Unknown
There’s two things I really hate about you: your face! – unknown
I would ask you how old you are, but I know you can’t count that high. – Kely from Phoenix
May
4
2007
With millions, if not thousands, of devout worshippers, the Church of the FSM is widely considered a legitimate religion, even by its opponents – mostly fundamentalist Christians, who have accepted that our God has larger balls than theirs.
May
4
2007
The Great Taste of Human Flesh, Without the Guilt
So what does human flesh taste like? Their FAQ says, “If you’ve never had human flesh before, think of the taste and texture of beef, except a little sweeter in taste and a little softer in texture. Contrary to popular belief, people do not taste like pork or chicken.” (MORE)
May
4
2007
The pheromones produced by biological fathers may influence a girl’s sexual maturity
Your dad is a man whose babies you do not want to bear. It is gross, criminal in many countries, and would be genetically ruinous for your consanguineous offspring.
What’s more, this ancient evolutionary no-no seems to have startling modern day implications for female maturation. A study of 2,000 US college girls published in the American Journal of Human Biology in July 2006 shows that daughters who grow up without their fathers tend to have their first period earlier than those who blossom under their dad’s wing. Robert Matchock, who led the retrospective survey at Pennsylvania State University Altoona, believes there is a mechanism at play here that helps prevent inbreeding.
(MORE)
May
4
2007
Our Creator’s stream of consciousness while fabricating the cow
Today, I feel like doing a plant … no, an animal. Yes, today, I am going to make an animal. And it will be a masterpiece. I shall call it the…. No wait! Maybe I should think of the name later. Yes, you should always name your pieces after you have completed them. Better that way.
(MORE)
May
3
2007
SOMETHING TO OFFEND EVERYONE!  What is the difference between
a Harley and a
The position of the dirt bag
Why is divorce so expensive?
Because it’s worth it.
What do you call a smart blonde?
A golden retriever.
What do attorneys use for birth control?
Their personalities.
What’s the difference between
a girlfriend and wife?
45 lbs
What’s the difference between
a boyfriend and husband?
45 minutes
What’s the fastest way to a man’s heart?
Through his chest with a sharp knife.
Why do men want to marry virgins?
They can’t stand criticism.
Why is it so hard for women to find men that are sensitive, caring, and good-looking?
Because those men already have boyfriends.
What’s the difference between
a new husband and a new dog?
After a year, the dog is still excited to see you
What makes men chase women
they have no intention of marrying?
The same urge that makes dogs chase cars they have no intention of driving.
Why don’t bunnies make noise when they have sex?
Because they have cotton balls.
What’s the difference between
a porcupine and BMW?
A porcupine has the pricks on the outside.
What did the blonde say when
she found out she was pregnant?
“Are you sure it’s mine?”
Why does Mike Tyson cry during sex?
Mace will do that to you.
Why did OJ Simpson want to
move to
Everyone has the same DNA.
Why do men find it difficult
to make eye contact?
Breasts don’t have eyes.
Where does an Irish family go on vacation?
A different bar.
What would you call it when
an Italian has one arm shorter than the other?
A speech impediment.
What’s the difference between
a southern zoo and a northern zoo?
A southern zoo has a description of the animal
on the front of the cage along with… “a recipe”.
How do you get a sweet little
80-year-old lady to say the F word?
Get another sweet little 80-year-old lady to yell *BINGO*!
What’s the difference between
a northern fairytale and a southern fairytale?
A northern fairytale begins “Once upon a time…”
A southern fairytale begins “Y’all ain’t gonna believe this shit”
Why is there no Disneyland in
No one’s tall enough to go on the good rides
May
3
2007
ANAMOSA, Iowa – A 135-year-old penitentiary changed some of its locks after keys to the maximum-security prison were apparently sold on eBay.
The keys belonged to a locksmith who retired from Anamosa State Penitentiary in 1974. He died two years later and when his wife died last year, an auctioneer was hired to sell off the estate, which included the keys.
Someone bought the keys and put them on eBay. Most appear to be antiques.
Jerry Burt, the prison’s warden, said prison staff members told him about the keys after they attended the auction, not knowing the keys were there.
“I checked eBay and they were listed,” Burt said. “We didn’t know anything about the auction beforehand.”
Burt said some locks at the eastern Iowa prison have been changed since 1974 while others haven’t, prompting the recent change.
“We did it as a precaution,” Burt said.
