Sunday, August 31, 2008

Jokers With Poker Faces

POODLE DOODLESObsceneCaffeine is your myspace caffeine fix. Now bigger and easier on the eyes.

The Watch Dog

My Bubble Burst

I Thought There Were Only TWO Jokers

What if there was in existence an actual time transportation machine, like Mr. Peabody's Wayback Machine?

What if we could interact with historic figures of the past without any worries of disturbing the space-time continuum?

What if we could gather three deceased U.S. Presidents, three living former Presidents, the current President and the two men currently campaigning to be the next President all together in one room?

Finally, what if this group of men have gotten together, not to talk politics, but to play a friendly game of poker?
(Parts of the following contain paraphrased excerpts from the recording "The Presidents' Card Game" as performed by the comedian and impressionist, Rich Little.)
The Scene: Nine distinguished(?) gentlemen(?) are seated at a large round card table lit by a single overhead light. Around the table are glasses and several bottles of various liquids such as water, iced tea, beer, Scope, Pepto-Bismol and Geritol.

Barack Obama starts the game by dealing the cards around the table to Ronald Reagan, George H.W. Bush, Jimmy Carter, Bill Clinton, Richard Nixon, George W. Bush, Gerald Ford, and John McCain.

Obama: Gentlemen, ante up.
Clinton: Say, the pot seems to be short a chip.
Nixon: Why's everyone looking at me? I'm not a crook!
Ford: They did call you Tricky Dick, didn't they?
Nixon: Well, pardon me!
Ford: I already did.

Obama: The game's 5-card stud.
Clinton: Why's everyone looking at me?
McCain: NO one's looking at you, Bubba.

Reagan: I'll take three cards.
Bush Sr: I'll fold.
Carter: Give me two, please.
Clinton: I'll take two also.
Nixon: Three.
Dubya: None for me.
Ford: Fold.
McCain: Give me two cards.
Obama: ...And the dealer takes two.

Reagan: Gin! (Lays his hand face up on the table.)
Nixon: Ronnie, we're playing poker, you dope.
Reagan: Oh, I forgot. Then I'll fold.

Carter: I'll bet two dollars.
Nixon: Dollars? I thought we were playing penny ante.
Obama: The minimum is one dollar. You have to see his bet or raise, Dick.
Nixon: You think I'm made of money? I fold!
Clinton: Hey! It's my turn! I'll see Jimmy's two dollars and raise it a dollar.
Nixon: I still fold.
Dubya: Here's my three and I'll raise you five. (Tosses 3 red chips and one blue chip into pot.)

Obama: Mr. President, you threw $25 worth of chips into the pot.
Bush Sr: Son, why can't you get the chips straight? The white ones are $1, the red are $5 and the blue ones are worth $10.
Clinton: No wonder the National budget is so screwed up!

Dubya: (Glares at Clinton.) Tell ya what, I like my hand. That's my bet.
McCain: $30 bucks to play? That's too rich for me. I'll fold.
Obama: I'll see your bet, Georgie. Jimmy?
Carter: I'm out.
Dubya: Read 'em and weep, boys. All red. (Spreads his cards on the table and reaches for the pot.)
Obama: Not so fast! I have a pair. Two lovely ladies.
Clinton: (Stands up and looks around.) Lovely ladies? Where? Where?
Dubya: Wait a minute, Osama! I have a 5-6-7-8-9 straight flush!
Obama: Obama! The name's Obama.
Bush Sr: Junior, you idiot! A straight has to be in the same suit. You have two hearts and three diamonds.
Clinton: Would someone please tell where these lovely ladies are?

Carter: Bill, you're lusting. You know, I once lusted for a woman ... in my heart.
Ford: Was that before or after you were attacked by that killer rabbit?
Nixon: Maybe if you weren't lusting and playing with bunny rabbits, you might have ended that Iran hostage crisis on your watch. You left that mess for the next guy. Ain't that right, Ronnie?
Reagan: Z-z-z-z ... Huh? I'll bid three spades.
Bush Sr: Poker, Ron. We're not playing Bridge. Poker. Poker!
Clinton: Poke her? I can't find either one of them.

Obama: Come on guys. Let's play another hand. Your deal, Ronnie.
Reagan: Z-z-z-z ... (Yawn.) Gentlemen ... You too, Dick ... The game is draw poker ... deuces, one-eyed Jacks, red Queens and black Kings are wild.
McCain: That the game you used to play with Bonzo?

Bush Sr: I'll take three cards.
Carter: Two for me.
Clinton: Hmmm ... Better give me four.
Nixon: Just one for me.
Dubya: Let's see ... make it three.
Ford: I have no threes. Go Fish. Anybody got any eights?
McCain: Jerry, did you trip and bang your head again?

Reagan: Shucks, fellas. It's late. I have get home. It's time for Nancy to pour me some warm milk before we go to bed.
Nixon: Look at this way, Ronnie. At least you never had to invest in a vibrating bed.
Reagan: Huh?
Nixon: Oh, never mind.

Dubya: Ronnie's right. It is getting late. Besides, I gotta get home and watch my videos of the women's Olympic volleyball team.
Clinton: I saw that on television. That close to those skimpy bikinis ... You lucky stiff.
Dubya: They were good. The gold medal was in the bag.
Clinton: Speaking of bags ... I gotta go home and crawl into bed with one!

McCain: Yeah, I'd better get home too. Cindy doesn't like to sleep alone.
Obama: Are you sure you know which one of your houses you're staying at?
Clinton: John, let me know anytime you need a stand-in. Does she like cigars?
McCain: Bubba, you're incorrigible. Anyway, I have to get up early and hit the campaign trail with Sarah.
Clinton: That was a dirty trick, McCain! Hillary sure is pissed!
Obama: Gentlemen ... And you too, John. It's been real. We really should get together and do this again. Of course ... Ahem ... I'll be President by then.
McCain: Over my dead body!
Carter: From the looks of you, that shouldn't take too long.

Bush Sr: Hey! What happened to all the chips?
Nixon: What's everybody looking at me for? I told you, I'm not a crook!

As these important(?) American men leave the room, there is a promise that we will get together again someday soon. When that happens you will be invited to take another trip in time in the Wayback Machine. Until then may you have a good yesterday, today and tomorrow.

Obama: Hey, Gipper! It's time to go.
Reagan: Z-z-z-z-z-z ...


Saturday, August 30, 2008

Easier On the Eyes

POODLE DOODLESObsceneCaffeine is your myspace caffeine fix. Now bigger and easier on the eyes.

Gone Fishin'

In the Dog House

Republican Presidential hopeful John McCain sure raised a lot of eyebrows when he announced his selection for his Vice Presidential running mate! Time will tell if this was a calculated risk or a move out of desperation.

For the miffed and disappointed Hillary backers who have claimed they would not support Barack Obama, McCain has dangled a tempting juicy carrot before them. If enough of them take the bait, it could be a landslide victory for the Republican Party.

One thing is certain, Sarah Palin sure is a lot easier on the eyes! She even has a personality. Once in a pageant, she was named Miss Congeniality. That's a stark contrast to the power hungry Hillary.

While it's true that Hillary has more government experience, the Alaskan Governor's down to earth demeanor and good looks won't hurt McCain's chances for the White House. I know that physical appearances should not be a determining factor in choosing which candidate one votes for, but John McCain suddenly looks a lot better!

By looking North To Alaska, John McCain just might have struck the bonanza gold!

(With apologies to the late great Johnny Horton.)
Big John ran for President in the year of oh-eight
With George Bush a lame duck and his Veep Cheney too
He crossed the country lookin' for that White House gold
Below that old White House's dome
In the Oval Office far from home.

John crossed the majestic mountains and shook a lot of hands
He talked to his team of advisors
As he campaigned throughout the land
With Barack Obama's mouth a-runnin' wild
And Hillary sayin' she's not done

Yes, John McCain was makin' his run
In the year of oh-eight.

While the voters were waitin' big numbers 'cumulatin'
North to Alaska gotta find a runnin' mate
North to Alaska gotta find a runnin' mate

John turned to Sarah with his purple heart in hand
Said You're a-lookin' at a very very desperate man
I'd trade all my houses that're spread 'cross this land
For just enough votes to call myself President McCain.

'Cause my campaign needs a woman to help me beat Barack
Remember Sarah we'll get all of Hillary's numbers back
And I'll build for my Cindy a White House home
Below that old White House's dome
In that Oval Office far from home.

While the voters are waitin' big numbers I'm speculatin'
North to Alaska I found me a runnin' mate
North to Alaska I found me a runnin' mate.
(Way up North, Way up North ...)


Friday, August 29, 2008

Dems Da Brakes!

I Brake For ... a break that I'll ... stop!

Yesterday (Thursday)

On the way home I was coasting down a steep hill and I eased down on the brake pedal as I neared a busy intersection. There was a sudden rubbing sound emanating from the brakes. It became louder when I applied more pressure. I had the sensation that the brake pedal was pushing back, resisting the pressure of my foot. I came to a stop, but not without a loud thumping noise and a jerky hopping bounce of my truck.

"Oh give me a #*%&ing break, not my #*%&ing brakes!" I yelled.

With every stop at every stop sign and at every traffic light the loud protests from my wheels heralded my approach. Every jaywalker and every marathoner wannabe wearing headphones and oblivious to oncoming traffic glared at me. At first I thought that one man on a bicycle was hitchhiking a helicopter, but then I realized he was rating my driving skills. I returned the gesture by giving him the same grade for his bike riding abilities. He showed his gratitude by swearing at me! Perhaps he felt my scoring was too low? So I used both hands and awarded him two points!

My trip home was further impeded by the usual suspects. One jerk decided to back out of a hidden driveway into the oncoming traffic. Then there was the trucker who realized in the nick of time that his cargo box was too high to pass beneath an overpass. A cabbie completed a 3-point u-turn in just seven in view of a sign that read: "NO U-TURNS."

Finally, there was the woman in an Escalade trying to parallel park in a spot that had just been vacated by a stretch limousine. Do you suppose she would've heeded my advice had I yelled to her, "Put down the #*%&ing cell phone and then back in the spot!"?

I made it safely home in about thirty minutes, considerably longer than my usual ten or fifteen minute commute. It was agonizing to have to drive at or under the speed limit. My wife heard the noise as I thumped to a stop in the driveway. Being very observant she said, "Something's wrong with your brakes!" (Sometimes certain facial expressions speak louder than words.)

It was four PM and I figured my mechanic was still working. So I called him up. One of his workers asked if I could get my truck there before five so he could start working on it the first thing Friday morning. After I hung up the phone, I grabbed my keys and headed for the door. I called out to my wife and announced my plans.

She called back from her game of Spades on the computer, "That truck needs to go the garage. You shouldn't be driving it like that!" I always say that a lot of marriages don't last because the couples don't talk to one another. My wife and I make it a point to communicate . I called out again, "I'll call you when I get there so you can come pick me up." She responded, "Doesn't he close at five? You'd better get going."

I was about to back out of my driveway when my cell phone rang. It was from my home phone number. "Hello?" I said. My wife's voice on the other end asked, "How are you getting home?" (Sometimes a moment of silence speaks louder than actual words.) I replied, "You're going to pick me up, aren't you?" (She likes to use moments of silence too.) She answered, "Why didn't you say so in the first place?"

On my way to the garage I thought to myself that maybe I should consider finding a mechanic in the same county. En route I had to stay alert to avoid some of those aforementioned usual suspects. I remembered too late a speed bump in the street at a school crossing point and was momentarily airborne. My foot pressing hard on the brake I landed with a thump and there was that loud sound inside my front wheels.

It should be noted that speed bumps usually come in pairs. There was no exception to that fact, especially in a school zone. At least two of my tires remained on the ground as I bumped over and thumped to the other side of the second mound of concrete.

I heard a voice shouting something that sounded like asshole. I looked in my rear view mirror and to my surprise there was my buddy on the bicycle. Neither one of us offered the other any points this time. I eased up on the accelerator the rest of the way. There had been no cars in front of me or behind me, so I had been rushing a bit to get to the garage by five.

When I pulled up next to the office at my mechanic's garage, the worker who'd answered the phone said, "You need a brake job." (I made a facial expression that practically screamed, 'No shit, Sherlock!') He took a look behind the front driver's side wheel and informed me that I had a broken stabilizer bar. I said in disgust, "It's no wonder with all the potholes. Damned good for nothing Highway Department." Of course, I thought, hitting a speed bump at 45 mph could snap a stabilizer bar too.

My cell phone rang. It was my wife. "Are you waiting for me to pick you up?" she asked. "Yeah," I said, "didn't we establish that at the house before I left?" (Sometimes silence suggests bad news.) Knowing that there was an impending caveat to our arrangements I waited for her reply, "I forgot. Gretchen's car is in the shop until tomorrow. She asked if they could use my car tonight. I said she could."

"No problem," I said. "They can swing by and pick me up. (Silence.) I added, "Can't they?" I should've known I wasn't going to like the answer she gave, "Too late. They left already." I had a cell phone in my hand so I said, "No problem again. I'll call her on her cell phone." (There was silence again.) "She forgot her cell phone. She left it at her house," my wife announced.

I handed the guy the ignition keys to my truck and told him I'd check in with them in the morning. I set out walking to the nearby bus stop. It was going to an even longer day, I thought. I would have to take a bus to the train station, take the train to another stop to catch another bus. Then it would be shank's mare for about a mile from that bus stop to my house.

It's been a long time (16 years) since I had to use public transportation. It didn't take long for me to remember that I didn't miss it at all. On the buses and especially on the train, there were plenty of straggling commuters still making their way to their homes. If one doesn't have a book or a newspaper to read while commuting, one can always amuse oneself with some people watching.

For the first three of six train stops my people watching was restricted to watching a single person. The pretty young thing was probably about the same age as my daughter.

(I had the old Esquire Magazine cartoon at the left in my files and it pretty much mirrored my train ride.)

Because she was sitting directly across from me, it was rather difficult to keep her out of my line of vision. She was displaying ample cleavage and even looking at her face kept that area noticeable. Diverting my eyes downward, I was thus afforded a view of exposed skin beneath her crossed legs. That view was further enhanced by the fact she was wearing dark nylon stockings.

It's been a long time since I've tested the waters of the social scenes, but I had to wonder when nylon hose became vogue again with young women. My experience was always dealing with those #*%&ing pantyhose!

For the final three stops a large man stood in front of me, effectively blocking the "scenery." (Unlike the man in the cartoon, I did not ask him to move.) At least I was saved from being caught by the girl as I was sizing her up and down, although I suspect she was well aware of my "subtle" goggling. In this modern "PC" world it would be difficult to know whether she liked flaunting it as much as I enjoyed looking.

I finally arrived home at 7:30, exhausted. I am not used to a mile walk - especially after an eight-hour working day. I made myself a PB&J sandwich and poured a cup of coffee. It seemed like an eternity before I was in my slippers and assuming a position of repose in my Lazy Boy. I turned on the TV and tuned in to the Red Sox game in progress. Somewhere between the bottom of one inning and the top of the next, I fell asleep.

Today (Friday)

I have finally taken some time off from work. I don't return to work until next Tuesday.

The following was received in an e-mail last week. Like the Esquire cartoon, this piece almost mirrored this day. (I altered the italicized part to reflect an actual event.)

Today, I woke up later than usual.

When I was going to have breakfast I slipped on the stairs and got a big whack on my head.

To calm me down, my wife gave me a cup of coffee; I burned my tongue because it was too damn hot.

I put a slice of bread in the toaster and when I went to get it out I got an electric shock that threw me on my ass.

The telephone rang, it was the mechanic telling me that he was closed for the long weekend. He wouldn't be able to work on my truck's brakes until Tuesday morning.

I decided this was the right time to take a nice hot shower and meditate to bring down my stress and help me to relax. That's when it happened..

Oh well ...
Dem's da breaks!
...And dem's da brakes!

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Here's Johnny!

The phrase "Here's Johnny!" no doubt evokes in the conscious mind of most of us the iconic image (left) of Jack Nicholson from the movie The Shining. (What husband wouldn't go insane cooped up in a snowed-in hotel with Olive Oyl?*)

Lest we forget, the phrase is also synonymous with Ed McMahon on The Tonight Show as he introduced each week night the host and star of the show, Johnny Carson.

In fact, the scene in the film adaptation of the Stephen King book was a tribute to the late night talk show host.

When I think of the name Johnny, Carson is usually the first to come to mind. There are others named Johnny that could enter my thoughts also; Johnny Cash, Johnny Weissmuller, Johnny Appleseed, Johnny Yuma, Johnny Horton, Johnny Come-lately, etc.

Jack Nicholson's role of an insane writer aside, I cannot help but tremble in fear of a more sinister Johnny. (Crescendo of creepy organ music plays in background.) That would be the hospital johnnie!

I honestly believe the design of these hospital "fashion statements" was not one of function or practicality, but rather to satisfy the voyeuristic needs of perverted and horny doctors and nurses. Don't believe me? Try putting one on backwards and see what reaction you get.

It's a sobering feeling, clad in one of these "Greek togas," to be sent marching down the corridors to another room or lab for blood work, X-rays, or an MRI. Back in February of this year I was being treated for a nasty case of celulitis in my right leg. It was necessary that I be naked from the waist down wearing one of those johnnies as I made that lonely walk carrying paperwork to be given to the lab technician.

Not intending to come across as homophobic, I couldn't help but wonder how many of the male staff I passed while en route might be sneaking a peek. It's gratifying to the male ego should a woman comment, "Nice ass," but not so if same compliments were to be uttered by a scrub-clad orderly.
Sentenced to stand in front of a firing squad, the prisoner refused the blindfold and declined to give any last words. To his surprise he was told to face the wall and not his executioners. The ties of the johnnie which barely covered his nakedness as it was, were loosened and he was then forced to bend forward.

He heard not the metal clicks of the guns being readied to open fire when given the orders. Instead, he heard the sounds of different weapons being unsheathed. Boing! Boing! Boing!
I kept asking my self, "Why did I come to the hospital? Why didn't didn't I go to my primary care doctor first?"

By now those readers who frequent this blog are waiting for that segue that will lead them to the impending jokes somewhere below these paragraphs. So be it.

You've heard of Carson and Horton and Appleseed,
And Weissmuller and Cash and Yuma and Come-lately,
But do you recall
The most ubiquitous Johnny of all?

Heeeeeere's Little Johnny!

Lil' Johnny attended a horse auction with his father. He watched as his father moved from horse to horse, running his hands up and down the horses' legs, rump, and chest.

After a few minutes, Johnny asked, "Pop, why are you doing that?"

"Because I'm thinking of buying these horses."

Johnny looked worried, "Then I think we'd better hurry home right away!"

"Why?" his father asked.

"Because the mailman stopped by yesterday, and I think he wants to buy Mom!"

The pretty teacher was concerned with one of her eleven-year-old students. Taking him aside after class one day, she asked, "Little Johnny, why has your school work been so poor lately?"

"I'm in love," the boy replied.

Holding back an urge to smile, she asked, "With whom?"

"With YOU!" he said.

"But Johnny," she said gently, "don't you see how silly that is? It's true that I would like a husband of my own someday. But I don't want a child."

"Oh, don't worry," the boy said reassuringly, "I'll use a rubber!"

A teacher asked her students to use the word "fascinate" in a sentence.

Mary said, "My family went to the New York City Zoo, and we saw all the animals. It was fascinating."

The teacher said, "That was good, Mary, but I wanted you to use the word 'fascinate.'"

Sally raised her hand and said, "My family went to the Philadelphia Zoo and saw the animals. I was fascinated."

The teacher said, "Good Sally, but I wanted you to use the word 'fascinate.'"

Little Johnny raised his hand. The teacher hesitated because Johnny was notorious for his bad language. She finally decided there was no way he could damage the word "fascinate," so she called on him.

Johnny said loudly, "My sister has a sweater with 10 buttons."

The teacher said, "That was good, Johnny. However, you did not use the word 'fascinate' in your sentence."

Little Johnny continued, "But her tits are so big, she can only fasten eight."

Little Johnny walked into his dad's bedroom one day only to catch him sitting on the side of his bed sliding a condom onto his penis in preparation of sex with his wife.

Johnny's father in attempt to hide his full erection with a condom on it bent over as if to look under the bed.

Little Johnny asked curiously, "Whatcha doing dad?"

His father quickly replied, "I thought I saw a rat go underneath the bed.

To which Little Johnny replied, "What ya gonna do, f**k him?"

Little Johnny was passing his parents' bedroom in the middle of the night, in search of a glass of water. Hearing a lot of moaning and thumping, he peeked in and caught his folks having sex. Before his dad could even react, Little Johnny exclaimed, "Oh, boy! Horsie ride! Daddy, can I ride on your back?"

Relieved that Johnny was not asking more uncomfortable questions, and seeing the opportunity not to break his stride, Daddy agreed. Johnny hopped on and Daddy started going to town. Pretty soon Mommy started moaning and gasping.

Johnny cried out, "Hang on tight, Daddy! This is the part where me and the milkman usually get bucked off!"

The Sunday School teacher was speaking to her class one Sunday morning and she asked the question, "When you die and go to Heaven, which part of your body goes first?"

Suzie raised her hand and said, "I think it's your hands."

"Why do you think it's your hands, Suzie?"

Suzie replied, "Because when you pray, you hold your hands together in front of you and God just takes your hands first!"

"What a wonderful answer!" the teacher said.

Now, Little Johnny raised his hand and said, "Teacher, I think it's your legs."

The teacher looked at him with the strangest look on her face as Johnny is known for his antics. Hesitant to ask, the teacher said, "Now, Johnny, why do you think it would be your legs?"

Lil Johnny said, "Well, I walked into Mommy and Daddy's bedroom the other night, Mommy had her legs straight up in the air and she was moaning, 'God, I'm coming!', and if Dad hadn't had her pinned down, we'd a lost her for sure!"

(* I cannot see Shelly Duvall in any role without visualizing her in the role she was born to play as Olive Oyl in the Popeye movie.)

Now I ask you, what other blogger would attempt to tie in Stephen King, The Tonight Show, Folsom Prison, Tarzan, apples, the Civil War, Alaska, hospital johnnies, togas, homophobia, a Christmas melody, Popeye the Sailor, and oh yeah, a gay firing squad with Little Johnny jokes in a post and still maintain continuity?


Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Blondes Just Wanna Have Dumb

How's this for a gunshot survivor...

Linda Burnett , 23, a resident of San Diego , was visiting her in-laws and while there went to a nearby supermarket to pick up some groceries. Several people
noticed her sitting in her car with the windows rolled up and with her eyes closed, with both hands behind the back of her head.

One customer who had been at the store for a while became concerned and walked over to the car. He noticed that Linda's eyes were now open, and she looked very strange. He asked her if she was okay, and Linda replied that she had been shot in the back of the head,and had been holding her brains in for over an hour.

The man called the paramedics, who broke into the car because the doors were locked and Linda refused to remove her hands from her head. When they finally got in, they found that Linda had a wad of bread dough on the back of her head.

A Pillsbury biscuit canister had exploded from the heat, making a loud noise that sounded like a gunshot, and the wad of dough hit her in the back of her head. When she reached back to find out what it was, she felt the dough and thought it was her brains.

She initially passed out, but quickly recovered.

For the record, Linda is a blonde...

Blonde is Blonde - Even if Bleached

A Winner

A blonde goes to the local restaurant, buys a small drink for herself, and sits down to drink it. She notices a peel-off prize sticker on the side of her cup while she is drinking. After pulling off the tab, she begins screaming, "I won a motor home! I won a motor home!"

The waitress runs over and argues, "That's impossible. The biggest prize given away was a stero system!"

The blonde replies, "No. I won a motor home!"

By this time, the manager makes his way over to the table, and he too argues, "You couldn't possibly have won a motor home because we didn't have that as one of our prizes."

Again the blonde says, "There is no mistake! I won a motor home!"

The blonde hands the prize ticket to the manager and he reads, "WIN A BAGEL."

Heads or Tails

A blonde reports for her university final exam which consists of mainly true and false questions. She takes her seat in the examination hall, stares at the question paper for five minutes, and then in a fit of inspiration takes her purse out, removes a coin and starts tossing the coin and marking the answer sheet: true for heads and false for tails. Within thirty minutes she is all done, whereas the rest of the class is still working furiously.

During the last few minutes, she is seen desperately throwing the coin, swearing and sweating. The moderator, alarmed, approaches her and asks what is happening.

"I finished the exam in a half hour," she replies. "Now I'm rechecking my answers."

Bar Mathematics

A blonde, a brunette and a redhead went into a bar and ordered their drinks from the bartender.

Brunette: "I'll have a B and C."

Bartender:"What is a B and C?".

Brunette: "Bourbon and Coke."

Redhead: "And, I'll have a G and T."

Bartender: "What's a G and T?"

Redhead: "Gin and tonic."

Blonde: "I'll have a 15."

Bartender: "What's a 15?"

Blonde: "7 and 7"

Home Early

A brunette, a redhead and a blonde all work in the same office with the same female boss. Every day, they noticed the boss left work early. One day, the girls decided that when the boss left, they'd leave right behind her. After all, she never called or came back, so how was she to know?

The brunette was thrilled to be home early. She did a little gardening and went to bed early.

The redhead was elated to be able to get in a quick workout at her spa before meeting a dinner date.

The blonde was happy to be home, but when she got to her bedroom she heard a muffled noise from inside. Slowly, quietly, she cracked open the door and was mortified to see her husband in bed with HER BOSS!!! Ever so gently, she closed the door and crept out of her house.

The next day, during their coffee break, the brunette and redhead mentioned leaving early again, and asked the blonde if she was with them. "NO WAY," she exclaimed. "I almost got caught yesterday!"

Phone Home

A blonde went into a world wide message center to send a message to her mother overseas. When the man told her it would cost $300 she exclaimed, "I don't have that kind of money!! But I would do ANYTHING to get a message to my mother overseas!"

The man arched an eyebrow. "Anything?"

"Yes, anything" the blonde promised.

With that, the man said, "Follow me" He walked into the next room and ordered, "Come in and close the door"

She did. He then said, "Get on your knees" She did. Then he said, "Take down my zipper" She did. He said, "Go ahead...take it out" She took it out and grabbed hold of it with both hands.

The man closed his eyes and whispered, "Well....go ahead!"

The blonde slowly brought her lips closer, and while holding it close to her lips she said loudly, "HELLO.....MOM???"


Monday, August 25, 2008

Echoes of Eddie -34

Can a dead man reach out from the grave to exact revenge against those responsible for his death? Welcome to installment number 34 of a story that explores that possibility. If you've not done so, read the story from the beginning HERE.

David looked down at his abdomen and laughed. There was no gaping hole or flowing blood. Where the muzzle of the gun had touched him when George pulled the trigger was but the blackened residue of gun powder. He advanced toward the man in defiance.

"You cannot kill a ghost, George," he beamed taunting the man.

"No! No! It can't be!" George murmured. He pulled the trigger again at point blank range. The young man was still coming, unaffected.

There was a sudden chilled gust of wind that swept across the crest of the hill. Everyone shivered at the sudden onslaught of the December winds. Above them tree limbs were creaking, as if crying out in fear. Even the clouds above seemed to be in alliance with the moving air, slipping aside to allow the full moon to appear.

George was trying to back away, to reassess what was happening. He looked around and saw that the shadows were taking on a purplish hue. He froze when his eyes fell upon the tree where he had deposited Jack. He was gone! He turned to where Sam had fallen. He too was gone!

Steve had been watching the drama unfold with mixed emotions. Their plan to draw his father out into the open had worked. Sam had assured him that George's ego would take control. Sure enough, not only had he admitted to being responsible for the deadly accidents, he had proudly boasted about his deeds.

When Sam had contacted him five years before, he'd told Steven the truth about his and George's affairs with their respective wives. If Steve had been in stunned shock when Sam unraveled the tangled tree that was the Cooper and the Nolan lineage, he was speechless to learn that his baby brother David was still alive.

There was sadness in Sam's voice as he described the night that George and David had "died." He explained how years before that he had left his wife and family because of the burden of shame due to his affair with Mildred Cooper, and George's dalliances with his own wife Agnes.

Sam had told him how he'd learned of George's uncontrolled anger from a frantic phone call from Agnes; how'd he'd been beating both her and Mildred, and most alarming of all, that he'd been molesting both Catherine and Marjorie. Steve had listened to Sam's account in subdued silence. His story was so unbelievable that it could only be the truth, Steve had thought.

When Sam returned to Soddy-Daisy Agnes had already confronted George in front of Mildred about their affairs, the abuse and the molestations. George had by then stormed out of the house and had begun what would turn into a week-long binge of drinking.

In tears Mildred had agreed to their plan to take little David away so that at least he would be safe. Catherine, at that point terrified of her father, had helped them. Sam was remorseful when he recanted the scene at the quarry. He thought Agnes had killed him when she'd hit him on the head with the stone. It was then he'd used the rope to hoist George's body onto the tree limb in attempt to make it look like he'd committed suicide. Hanging above David's shoe and cap floating in the water, no one questioned why a distraught father might have hung himself.

Then Sam had learned that George had not died after all, that he'd come back with a vengeance. It hadn't taken much effort to learn of George's plans to avenge his own "death," however his plans were far more sinister. In George's tortured mind, he had for some reason decided to wipe out everyone in any way connected to his life. In order to get them all together he'd concocted the ghost stories. He'd then started picking off one by one those connected with Eddie's death. He'd known that even Steven would be drawn back home.

After he'd heard Sam's incredible story, they had spent several weeks working out the details of their ambiguous plan. First and foremost Steve had only wanted the truth about the night Eddie had died to be revealed once and for all. Once that was accomplished, he was hoping that his nightmares would come to an end. He had to agree with Sam that the all of the skeletons, all of the demons had to be exorcised from their respective closets.

When Steve's mother had taken sick it had moved their plans ahead by a couple of months. The irony of the dates had not been lost on him, and it had necessitated that they should be ready to go with their emergency backup plan. Steve had dreaded that possibility, doubting that he would be able to convince his father that he wanted to team up with him. To his surprise, he had swallowed the bait and had accepted Steve as a partner.

Carried by the wind, there was a low moaning sound drifting from behind the stand of trees. George thought he heard what sounded like a disembodied voice and trained his eyes upon the shadows before the trees. A blue shimmering form of no discernible shape emerged into the area lit by pale moonlight. It was undulating in rhythm to the mournful sounds emanating from it.

At first George sneered. They weren't going to scare him. It was a trick. Sam must be still alive and he was wearing the jacket he had discarded earlier in attempt to turn the tables. Keeping his eye on it, he was still backing away from David. His foot was suddenly tangled in something on the ground. He stumbled and fell. He sat up and looked at his feet to see what had tripped him. His face became ashen and his body began to tremble. His jacket was still on the ground where he'd dropped it!

George shrieked. He was hearing his name being called by the wraith-like thing as it continued drifting closer. He turned to the others for help, but they were standing still. He looked up imploringly at Steven but he had averted his eyes from where he lie. Why were they ignoring that light thing, watching instead him? They were reveling at his plight? Why weren't they afraid?

The thing was hovering over him, its tendrils of light brushing against his chest. He was struggling to breathe. He could feel his blood pressure rising. His heart was beating faster and faster. It felt as if his chest was about to burst open. Then the thing begin to drop lower and lower. The damned thing was disappearing into his chest. It was stealing his soul! He opened his mouth to scream.

Steve looked upon George's contorted face, a frozen death mask. The shapeless thing rose from the still body and drifted in his direction. He should have been trembling in fear, but somehow he felt relaxed. He welcomed its embrace.

( be continued ... the conclusion... Echoes of Eddie-35)


Sunday, August 24, 2008

I Metaphor, Too Bad She Wasn't a Ten


Morning Coffee

A Soap Opera


"It's hotter today than, two gerbils humping in a wool sock!"
"Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit."
"That boy is dumber than a box of hair."
"It's been hotter'n a goat's butt in a pepper patch."

"Cute as a sack full of puppies."
"Gooder than grits."
"If something is really thin, it's "fine as frog's hair."
"Busier than a cat covering crap on a marble floor."

Wintery roads are said to be "slicker than otter snot."
Someone who is bothersome is "like a booger you can't thump off."
"He fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down."
If something is hard to do, it's "like trying to herd cats."

"She's uglier than homemade soap."
"Uglier than a bucket of armpits."
"The wheels still turning, but the hamster's dead"
"I'm just about as welcome at my inlaws, as a hair in a biscuit."

Desk Caddy

I've been wanting a practical desk caddy for some time. I saw this one advertised on the web and in a catalog we received in the mail recently. Not only is it practical, but it's also a funny conversation piece. I'm going to order one!

House Catty

Doggone It! I'm Tired!



Saturday, August 23, 2008

Swatting WASPs


One Day at the Shore

Go Fly a Kite

What ever happened to the WASPs anyway? You seldom hear the term anymore. It's curious because they are the most privileged, influential and wealthiest minority in U.S. society. Why, they are probably the only minority that has never suffered prejudice because of race or religion.

Growing up I knew the acronym to stand for either We Are Selfish & Pompous or the less complimentary We Are Selfish Pricks. Of course, it actually stood for White Anglo Saxon Protestant. The American Heritage Dictionary's definition: WASP - a white U.S. citizen of non-specific or religious identity.

They never went anywhere. They are still out there. They are still parenting spoiled and "want-not" preppie children. They are the bankers, the wealthy politicians, the high-ranking military officers, the industry magnates, etc. Their prominent names include the Hiltons, the Gores, the Bush's, and the Clintons, to name but a few.

The WASPs of olden were of the old blue blood money and they passed their fortunes and empires on to their scions. WASPs tended to marry into other WASP families, seldom approving of non-WASP intrusions. WASPs were easily recognizable as they lived in the biggest and fanciest homes, drove the biggest and fanciest automobiles, and wore the most expensive clothes. It would not be atypical for a WASP who owned the best of everything, to hesitate or to cringe at the prospect of having to leave a tip to someone who provided them a service.

It appears that the WASP's prominence in society has taken a back seat to a whole new breed of rich and influential people. The WASPs appear content to let these upstarts dominate the public eye, while they sit back and enjoy their volumous wealths and keep getting richer.

Their replacements, the new order is comprised of those who came not from inherited monies, but from meager if not poor backgrounds. They are the young professional athletes, TV and movie stars and starlets, musicians, electronic geeks, Dot-Com pioneers, etc., who have become overnight multi-millionaires.

I guess this new breed should, instead of "WASPs" be called something else; perhaps BEEs or FLEAs or HORNETs or GNATs or GRUBs or CHIGGERs?

I want to wax nostalgic and resurrect some of that dated WASP humor, circa the 1970s-1980s. (Funny, but some of these jokes are still around. "WASP" has simply been replaced with: Yuppie, Bimbo, Blonde, Redneck, Moron, or some ethnic group.)
  • A WASP is someone who thinks Taco Bell is a Mexican phone company.
  • A WASP is a person who thinks a unicorn is a horse with an erection in the wrong place.
  • Why do WASPS smile at lightning? Because they think their picture is being taken.
  • What is a real high class WASP? One who knows what kind of wine goes with an enema.
  • How can you tell if a WASP is well bred? He removes his shoes before he puts his feet on the coffee table.
  • How do WASPS know when it's raining? When rain gets in their noses.
  • What's a Preppie? A human gimme pig.
  • Did you hear about the Preppie who thought that the G spot was the place on her polo shirt where the gator was sewn?
  • Why do Baptist WASPs forbid fornicating standing up? They fear it will lead to dancing.
  • What is a WASPs worst religious fear? To be caught in church during collection with only a $20 bill.
  • Did you hear about the WASP who returned from lunch and saw a sign on his office door, BACK IN 30 MINUTES, so he sat down and waited for himself?

"Wow," whispered Jacqueline to husband Palmer, as they entered the theater, "look who they've got tonight. My favorite actor - Nosmo King." She pointed to an electric sign.

"Dahling," said Palmer, "that signs says No Smoking."

Henry came home to find his new wife in tears. "Corki, what's the matter?" he asked.

"I wanted to fix you a nice martini," she sputtetred. "I started out by rinsing off the ice cubes in hot water, and now I can't find them."

When Jennifer turned fifty, she went to her doctor for advice on reducing her midsection. He advised that she exercise by raising her feet over head ten times before she got out of bed. She started the next morning while hubby Tyler, still hungover and half asleep, was in the bathroom shaving.

On the third repetition of the exercise, Jennifer caught her feet in the grillwork on the head of the brass bed and was stuck. She screamed for help.

Tyler stumbled into the room with his face lathered and squinted at her. "For God's sake," he mumbled, "comb your hair and put in your teeth! You look more like your mother every day!"


Friday, August 22, 2008

Cletis Clyde's Conjungle Advice & Aneckdotes

I been tryin' to figger out why they's so much divorcin' goin' on. So's I done did sum researchin' to see what I cud come up with. Well, learnin' gives me the gosh darnedest headaches. Now you give no never mind to the fact that my pappy always says to me, "Iffin I had a head like your'n, I'd have a headache too."

Jest so's I didn't go and furget all that I wuz a learnin', I writ it all down on back of a 'ployment form I wuz 'sposed to fill out fer a job down at Piggly Wiggly's. My wife said I shuda writ it all down on summa that stationery paper. I tell she's a dumb one, coz she don't knows that since it's stationery paper, then it means it can't be moved.

I tell ya, I got me a whole batch of cuzzins what's a livin' close by in these hills and hollers. I ain't fer sure why, but prac'ly everybody's related in sum way or anuther. I been toled that they's cuzzins of mine that are once, twice and even three times removed. Hells bells, I even got sum that that never moved a'tall. They's been a livin' in the same ol' shack fer as long as I can recall.

Bye n' bye, I purty soon had done c'lected a lotta stuff that wuz inaminute, you know secret stuff like that 'tween men and womens when they git nekkid and all sweaty. 'Tweren't long before I had some mighty int'restin' conjungle facts. In fact, I had so much that sum the folks said I shud make a book outta all that I wuz bein' toled by the people I wuz a talkin' to.

Paw wanted to know why I wuz a callin' my book "Cletis Clyde's Conjungle Advice & Aneckdotes" fer. I says to him I said, "Tarnation Paw, coz Cletis Clyde's my name." Well, he slapped me on the back and said, "Damn it all, iffin you ain't one smart boy! And iffin' I wuz sure you wuz my son, I'd be right proud to call you son."

One thing a lot of those folks wuz concerned 'bout wuz fidelity. I'll be hanged if I knows what radios and stereos hasta do with married life, but I listened jest the same and writ down what they wuz a sayin'. The first of my cuzzins I talked to 'bout stayin' together and not divorcin' wuz Clem and his purty wife Ellie.

Clem pulled me aside so's Ellie cudn't eezdrop and he said, "The best way to 'void divorce is to not git cot when one's a cheatin'." When I started to write down that sound piece of advice, he said I best not. Coz the next thing I knows a lotta fellers gonna get real mad-like iffin' I wuz to talk 'bout a man's right to go huntin' fer some strange so's his wife don't know.

With Ellie a listen' in he toled the same advice, but it was in a condescended version, ya know, he shortened it sum and left off the part 'bout gettin' cot. Then he said he'd tell me 'bout a incident that jest happened the other night and they wuz thinkin' a divorce might be the right thing to do. Rightcheer is his story:
When Cuzzin Clem came home late his wife Ellie wuz already in bed. He went into the bedroom, undressed lickity-split and crawled into bed next to her. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Then he waited a bit before he hauled off and walloped her square on the ass.

"What in the hell wuz that fer?" Ellie shrieked jumpin up in bed.Clem said to her,"Fer not openin yer eyes to see who it wuz!"

Well, it wuzn't long before he and Ellie wuz a fightin' and a cussin' with one another like all git out. Finally Ellie said to him that she knowed it wuz him coz she heard him come stumblin' in all drunk and when he tripped over the hound dawg he wuz a cussin' up a storm.

So they ended up not divorcin' and stayin' together. Clem thought that since they wuz both butt nekkid and 'pologies had been made and accepted, that they might as well do some conjungle stuff. Well, it turns out Ellie wuz still mad. Clem had to sleep with the hound dawg fer the night.
So as I wuz a finishin' writin' down what they'd been a sayin' I said, "So that's what fidelity is." They looked at me kinda funny and then at each other and then at me again and Ellie said, "What duz radios and stereos have to do with marriage?"

The next cuzzins I called on wuz Billy Bob and his missus, Sarah Jean. It seems they's wuz a wantin' to have a baby, least wise Sarah Jean wus wantin' to have a baby. I ain't none too sure Billy Bob had the same hankerin'. Anyways, they went to see the doctor and this what follows wuz what took place:
Billy Bob and Sarah Jean toled the doctor that they's been tryin' to have a baby fer quite some time now.

The doctor asked, "What position are you in when you experience ejaculation?"

"What's ejaculation?" Billy Bob asked.

"Well, uh, that's your climax when you come." answered the doctor.

Billy Bob was a bit confused for a moment. Then he asked, "Do you mean the white stuff?"

The doctor nodded.

"Well Sarah Jean says it's too icky," he said, "so I jest shoot it in the sink before we start."
The next story I got wuz toled to me last night when I stopped at the funeral home. My Uncle Joe's wife of twenty years took sick over the weekend and up and died. It don't have much to do with radios and stereos, but it wuz a touching story 'bout about a couple who stayed together:
Uncle Joe wuz standin' next to her casket, greeting friends and cuzzins. One cuzzin took him aside and said, "Joe, everybody is a gossipin' like crazy. Why in the hell did you choose a Y-shaped casket for Judy May?"

"Well," replied Uncle Joe, "I came home and found her nekkid in bed. And since fer once she wuzn't complainin' of a headache, I took off my clothes and climbed on. "Tweren't 'til rigor set in that I noticed she wuz dead, but by then it wuz too late to get her legs together."
A young woman named Bertha on the other side of the hill a couple of hollers away toled me about her first date with her husband Henry Joe. I didn't think it wuz about stayin' together or divorcin', but she said it wuz funny and why she decided to marry such a dumb man.
Henry Joe called up Bertha and asked her if she'd like to go sparkin' down by the big pond at Kelly Bottom.

"But Henry Joe, I've got my menstrual cycle."

Answered a determined Henry Joe, "So, I'll borrow my brother's Moped!"
Well, I didn't think it wuz a very funny story. It wuz all I cud do to not call her the dumb one. Coz everyone who knows a lick about bikes, knows fer a fact that no manufacturer makes a motor cycle called a Menstrual.

This here next story is 'bout a incident what happened to me whilst I wuz on my way to visit sum cuzzins up in Pittsburgh. You might say it has to do with cheatin', but I'm of a mind that tryin' don't count none.
I wuz a walkin' to the train station mindin' my own bizness when this woman wuz a walkin' 'cross my path. She wuz a blonde-headed gal wearin' a real low cut dress that wuz a showin' off the hugest ones I think I ever saw. She looked like Dolly Parton, iffin you get my drift.

I ends up a followin' her coz as it turns out she wuz a headin' to the train station too. So's I decided to have some intercoursin' wiffin her. (That's a cinnamon, or another word fer talkin, before any y'all try to 'cuse me of me tryin' to pick her up.)

I introduced myself to her and asked what she might be doin' later and iffin' she might have a gumption to go out with a handsome guy like me. It musta been oblivious that I wuz a watchin' her chest a jigglin' more than I wuz a lookin' at her face, coz she said "You're a pig. You are more interested in my body than me the person." She then said goodbye to me and said she had to get off to work.

I tried to talk to some other gals on the way to the station, but I wuzn't havin' much luck. So I proceeded on to the station to buy my train tickets to Pittsburgh. When I got up to the ticket window, wuz I sure surprised to see that blonde and her bigguns a workin' in there a sellin' train tickets.

I decided to try real hard to look at her face and eyes when I bot my tickets and to act jest like a perfect gentleman. She wuzn't none too happy to see me, but she acted professional and asked where it wuz I wanted to go.

I couldn't help myself but to take a quick stare at her cleavage before I spoke. You won't believe what come out of my mouth! I said, "I'd like a picket to Titsburgh!"

She crossed her arms across her chest and frowned. She wuz a none too happy ticket seller fer sure.

I cleared my throat and tried again, "I mean, I'd like a ticket to Pittsburgh, please." I wuz relieved and then fer sum reason I said,"And I'd like my change in nipples and dimes."

She stared real menacin' like and said, "How 'bout I sell you sum tickets fer straight to Hell?" I wuz on the losin' end of the stick I cud see. But then I had a brilliant idea.

"Miss," I said to her, "If you're gonna keep goin' 'round dressed like that a hangin' out fer men like me to gawk at, then judgement will be passed on you at the Pearly Gates. And St. Finger will surely be there pointing his peter at you ..."

I turned to walk away and said, "I think I'll take the bus."
Well folks, that's all of the aneckdotes and conjungle advice I found fer my book so far. But when I finds sum more, I'll sure drop by and share sum more wiffin you. In the meantime, I think I jest might move the radio and stereo into the bedroom and see if iffin I can figger out what all the fuss over fidelity is.


Thursday, August 21, 2008

Java Script

People ask me if I wake up grumpy in the morning. I reply, "No, I just bring her some coffee in bed."

I went to the doctor and complained, "Everytime I drink my coffee, I get a stabbing pain in my eye." He said, "Well. have you tried taking the spoon out of the cup?"

Joe. Java. Go-go Juice. A cup of ambition. Coffee.

Doesn't it seem that everything we enjoy nowadays is harmful to our health?

They say too much coffee isn't good for us. Who are they and what are they doing snooping in my kitchen? If they were paying attention they would see an amazing transformation, wherein a half-asleep grumbling useless zombie becomes a wide awake grumbling useless human when copious amounts of that hot liquid is sent cascading down his throat.

If as they say I am slowly committing suicide cup by cup, then would it not follow that Starbucks® and Dunkin' Donuts® are guilty of executing mass genocide?

Let us pray.

Caffeine is my shepherd; I shall not doze.
It maketh me to wake in green pastures;
It leadeth me beyond the sleeping masses. It restoreth my buzz.
It leadeth me in the paths of consciousness for its name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of addiction,
I will fear no Equal™: For thou art with me;
Thy cream and thy sugar they comfort me.
Thou preparest a carafe before me in the presence of The Starbucks®;
Thou annointest my day with pep; my mug runneth over.
Surely richness and taste shall follow me all the days of my life
And I will dwell in the House of Juan Valdez forever.

Have Another Cup

A nervous patient in the doctor’s office and asks for advice, "Doctor, what should I do? Every time I come home from work, I see some strange man in bed with my wife. When I start yelling at her, she just locks me in the kitchen and tells me to calm down and drink a cup of coffee. This has been happening every day for the last four months."

The Doctor replies, "So how can I help you?"

"I just want to know - am I drinking too much coffee?"

And That's To Go

Freda was eighteen years old, friendly, and eager to do things right. Unfortunately, being blonde, she wasn't especially bright.

She had just started her first job, as a secretary and general go-fer at a corporate office. Her first task was to go out for coffee. She walked into a nearby coffee shop carrying a large thermos. When the counterman finally noticed her, she held up the thermos. "Is this big enough to hold six cups of coffee?" she said.

The counterman looked at the thermos, hesitated for a few seconds, then finally said, "Yeah. It looks like about six cups to me."

"Good," Freda said. "Give me two regular, two black, and two decaf."

Top Ten Ways I like My Coffee
10. Hot
9. Hair-free
8. Non-crunchy
7. One barrel at a time
6. Doughnut-enabled
5. So caffeinated it jumps out of the cup and slaps me
4. Sucked straight out of the filter
3. Intravenously
2. Strong enough to sit up and bark Rowf!
1. With a 12-course breakfast.

The Coffee Maker

Cousin Elly, another blonde, is the world's worst at getting instructions mixed up.

When she got married her husband bought her one of those fancy, electric coffee makers. It had all the latest gadgets on it.

Salesman Riley carefully explained how everything worked; how to plug it in, set the timer, go to bed, and upon rising, the coffee is ready.

A few weeks later Elly was back in the store and Riley asked her how she liked the coffee maker.

"Wonderful!" she replied, "However, there's one thing I don't understand. Why do I have to go to bed every time I want to make a pot of coffee?"

You Know You Are
Addicted To Coffee If...

* You sleep with your eyes open.
* You have to watch videos in fast-forward.
* The only time you're standing still is during an earthquake.
* You can take a picture of yourself from ten feet away without using the timer.
* The Taster's Choice couple wants to adopt you.
* The nurse needs a stop watch to take your pulse.
* You grind your coffee beans in your mouth.
* You can jump-start your car without cables.
* You walk twenty miles on your treadmill before you realize it's not plugged in.
* You've built a miniature city out of little plastic stirrers.
* People get dizzy just watching you.
* Instant coffee takes too long.
* You channel-surf faster without a remote.
* You short out motion detectors.
* You introduce your spouse as your coffeemate.
* You don't even wait for the water to boil anymore.
* You answer the door before people knock.
* Your birthday is a national holiday in Brazil.
* You have a bumper sticker that says: "Coffee drinkers are good in the sack."
* You can type sixty words per minute... with your feet.
* When someone says: How are you? You say: Good to the last drop
* You haven't blinked since the last lunar eclipse.

A Rejected Commercial?

Two woman were fighting in the supermarket. One quickly grabbed a jar of Folgers coffee, opened it and dumped it down the other woman's blouse.

The lady asked, "Why did you do that?"

The other lady's response was, "There's nothin' better than waking up with Folgers in your cup."

A New Creamer?

A lady came into the kitchen, sat down at the table, leaned forward, put her head in her hands and said to her husband "Honey, I feel terrible! My head hurts, my back's killing me and my left breast just burns and burns."

He said "I'm gonna help you, Dear. I'll get you some aspirins for the headache, I'll rub your back with Myoflex for the backache, and if you'll sit up and get your breast out of the coffee, it'll stop burning!"

With some people, it is advisable
not to strike up a conversation
until after they've had their coffee.

Do you ever talk to your cup of coffee? I had an argument one morning with mine. It started out as A Conversation With Joe.

On that note, I'll close and go for my second pot of the morning.


Wednesday, August 20, 2008

Naked Daydreamer

When I was a not so strapping young lad I spent a lot of time on the banks of the Elk River which flowed behind our house as it coursed its way eventually into the Ohio River.

If I wasn't fishing, gigging for frogs* , or swimming, I could be found lazing on a bed of clover by the riverside daydreaming.

When you wish upon a star
Makes no difference who you are
Anything your heart desires
Will come to you

Not so fast, cricket! I didn't buy your bill of goods then, and I certainly don't believe you now! Try this one on for size.

The Candyman makes everything he bakes
Satisfying and delicious.
Talk about your childhood wishes.
You can even eat the dishes!

That's more like it, choking to death on stoneware!

My daydreams weren't as grandiose as those of other boys my age. Unlike them, I never imagined myself as a fireman or a police officer. I never saw myself riding on the Cisco Kid's horse, Diablo and catching the outlaws. I never wanted to be Skyler King flying through the clouds in the Songbird high above the river. I didn't wish to slash a "Z" in Sgt. Garcia's trousers.

No, my dreams were more practical and down to earth. I never wanted a pair of rose-colored glasses, especially after I found out that those X-ray glasses in the back covers of my comic books didn't work as advertised. Besides, back then I wasn't interested in seeing through girls' clothes. You see, boys my age knew that those "bumps" on the girls' chests were part of the clothes they wore. If they took off their blouses, why they'd have been as flat-chested as us boys. (Imagine my surprise a few years later when we went skinny-dipping and some girls joined us!)
At my own expense, allow me to share a true anecdotal moment regarding those bumps on the girls:

I was in the 4th or 5th grade at the time and our teacher had us each draw the name of a classmate for us to play "Secret Santa." I drew the name of Joanna Schoolcraft. (I'll use her real name in the event she was to read this post someday and for her to share in the innocent embarrassment, because she never knew about the following exchange between myself and my mother.)
Me: Mom, does perfume cost a lot of money?
Mom: Some do. Why do you ask?
Me: I figured that would make a good Secret Santa gift for Joanna.
Mom: Are you sure she's old enough to wear perfume?
Me: Sure. She wears a bra.
(Imagine the look on my mother's face!)
Mom: How do you know that?
Me: Well, they stick out!
I never found out why my mother was laughing so hard until a few years later when some girls joined us skinny-dipping. It wasn't long after that day that my voice began to change and I started daydreaming about girls.
Excuse the digression, but I was writing about my prepubescent daydreams, wasn't I?

On the banks of that river, I daydreamt that one day I would struggle to pay my taxes and a mortgage. I envisioned trying to pay high utility bills. I imagined that I would do without so that my daughter could have. I saw myself paying over $4 for a gallon of gasoline.

Then I dreamt that my desire to write would finally manifest itself on the Internet in the form of a Blog.

Okay cricket, maybe your song wasn't so far off base after all. However, there is that adage that goes something like: "Be careful what you wish for. You might get it."

Funny, I was sitting here reading that last line and thought to myself, "Why not?"

... There I am skinny-dipping ... And here come the girls!

* For a true story about frog gigging, check out The River's Edge, a June '06 posting.


Monday, August 18, 2008

Echoes of Eddie-33

Can a dead man reach out from the grave to exact revenge against those responsible for his death? Welcome to installment number 33 of a story that explores that possibility. If you've not done so, read the story from the beginning HERE.

George clinched his fist and bellowed, "What do you mean? Smashed open from the inside? Impossible!" He sat down at the edge of the grave and slid into the earthen pit. Steve positioned himself between the grave and the small group.

Tiffany was staring in the direction of Hunter and the suddenly attentive Catherine. Bemused, she nodded. She knew Hunter had been seeing someone. She never guessed that it would be a sweet and innocent girl like Catherine Cooper. She wasn't hurt or angry that he had found comfort in the arms of another woman. In a sense she felt relief, if for no other reason than it justified her own infidelity.

Tears were forming in her eyes once more. Jack, poor Jack was lying back there dying. She couldn't bear to look upon him, impaled on that pickaxe. It was strange, she thought, how she had been using him like she'd used others, only to fall in love with him. She wasn't sure just when she realized she loved him, but it didn't matter. For the first time in her life she was in love with someone who also loved her. The tears were becoming more difficult to control. It was too painful too accept that now she was going to lose him, forever.

David could tell that it was time for his part in the drama by the silent message in Steven's eyes. They were rolling to his immediate left and back. He studied the man's eyes to make sure Steven was in fact signaling him. When Steve's eyes moved for the third time David returned the gesture with his own eyes.

Steven's eye movements had indicated where in the grave George was located and David shouted to him, "Face it, George. Eddie's ghost escaped from his own grave. It was Eddie who caused all those accidents. It was Eddie who killed all those kids."

George shouted angrily from within the pit, "Nonsense. There's no such things as ghosts. Nobody can come back from the dead."

Undaunted David spoke again, "Eddie came back. He came back to exact his revenge on those responsible for his death."

George propped the shovel against the earthen inside wall of the grave and pulled himself up and shouted, "It's me! It's me who's exacting revenge around here, not some imaginary ghost!" He began to pound on his chest with one hand while holding onto the gun with the other. "It was me who caused those accidents. I killed the bastards who killed Eddie!"

David ignored his tirade, "You're a ghost aren't you, George? After all, you came back from the dead, did you not?"

George seemed to relax somewhat at David's question. "Ha, ha! Right you are. I did, didn't I?." He began to laugh again and uttered, "Boo!" Then he began to laugh the laugh of a mad man.

"It's a strange feeling coming back from the dead, isn't it?" David knew that George would soon grow tired of their banter. He was nibbling at the bait that had been cast before him, but it was time for him to start fishing in earnest. "I know. You see, I've come back from the dead too!"

George stared at the brash young man for a moment. He was tired of the game. "Just who in the hell are you?"

David grinned and rested his hands on his hips and replied, "Don't you know, George?"

"I've never laid eyes on you. How would I know?"

"There happens to be three empty graves up here, George," he said pausing only to watch his reaction. He raised his arm and pointed and continued, "There's Eddie's grave behind you. Then of course, there's your grave."

George chuckled, "Alright wise guy, that's two. The third ...?"

It was time to play the trump card David thought. He extended his hands and made a motion as if drawing something to his chest, "That would be my grave ... Right next to your grave ... Dad!"

Standing to the right of George, Steve was shaking his head. He was trying to signal David to back off. George could snap at any moment. To think that his son David had not died might be too much for him to swallow, too much for him to accept. Was David forgetting that George was holding a gun?

He sensed the tension among the others. He'd felt their angry glares from the moment he'd sided with George. He couldn't blame them though. After all, for all they knew he had indeed betrayed them. It had been Sam's idea that he gain George's confidence. It was a dangerous game he'd been playing.

He glanced beyond where they were gathered. In the dim moonlight seeping through the clouds he could see that they were gone. He drew in and exhaled a deep sigh of relief. Maybe, just maybe he'd be alright.

"NO!" George cried. "David ... My David drowned in the quarry that night."

"They never found my body," David exclaimed above his protest. "I was never in the water!"

"I ... I saw your shoe ... and ... your cap ..."

David almost felt sorry for the man as he began to blather. He was quick to quash any pity for this man. "My shoe and cap, yes. Me? No. I was safe in Sam's car."

"Lies! It's all lies!" he countered. He was at the breaking point. He raised the pistol and released the safety. "You are not a ghost. You are not David! David is dead!"

David tensed. George shoved the pistol into his midsection and squeezed the trigger. The retort shattered the quietude of the winter night.

(to be continued ... Echoes of Eddie-34)