Eight years ago during one of my funky moods I posted a list of 100 things that I hated. All these years later I stumbled on that list and decided it might be worth updating since so many things have happened to change my way of thinking. It would take more brainpower than I have to come up with 100 things that I hate these days because in fact I really hate nothing. But as you well know I’m certainly irritated and annoyed by a hell of a lot of things. I decided to go through my list of 100 step-by-step, taking my time, and reducing that list to just 50.
My first list included many things that were meant to be humorous but I think now I’ll be a little more truthful with myself about the 50 things that annoy or irritate me. Becoming a senior citizen changes a persons perspective on many things never before thought of. I’m now at the point in my life where I can say whatever the hell I want about anything. Make your own list and then match it to mine just to see how far apart we are or aren’t. Here comes the list . . .
Stupid people, dirty fingernails, criminals, backward baseball caps, large groups of people, dumb cashiers, stinky feet, bugs crawling on me, hospitals, Oprah Winfrey, Will Ferrell, women missing teeth, political correctness, liberals, drug users, stinky cheese, Jehovah witnesses, anti-vaxers, vegans, ass kissers, waiting in line, stinky breath, illegal aliens, ugly feet, noisy radios, crowded elevators, screaming brats, texting while driving, saggy pants, granny panties, penis caught in zipper, tailgaters, body odor, ex-wives, nosy people, boogers, clowns, wet farts, bums, night farts, unibrow women, Rosie O’Donnell, performing artists, smell of urine, hairy nipples, yellow nail polish, liars, corpses, jeans with holes, and of course all salesmen.
Believe me it took a lot of mental effort to eliminate 50 from my original list. Many of the ones eliminated just weren’t pertinent any longer and I’m glad I finally was able to trim the list down. Also as you can see by the title of this posting they are no longer things that I hate, just things that are currently major irritants. As you’ll notice, only a few things refer to the pandemic but that could quickly change in the near future.
It seems that everyone finds a great deal of humor in the smells and sounds of human bodily functions. I’m not exactly sure why it’s so damn funny but it really is. Anyone who tells me that they don’t see the humor in it is either lying or absolutely clueless.
It all started for me as a small child. Early on my father taught me the real meaning of the term “smell my finger” and believe me it’s a lesson not soon forgotten. Another of his favorites was “pull my finger” which normally resulted in a loud, disgusting, and eye watering fart. My dad wasn’t the least bit shy and would even pull stunts on my friends who were visiting. At first it was embarrassing but I soon learned to appreciate the humor as long as he was doing his thing to someone else.
Every young boy I knew took pleasure in grossing out their friends at every opportunity. School bus farting contests were our favorite because it involved grossing out the girls as well as the bus driver. We couldn’t pass that up.
Another practice was to burp as loudly as you could during a quiet study hall and then place the blame on someone else. My friend Dick had an almost supernatural ability to burp and throw his voice like a ventriloquist. He’d make a cute girl nearby turn cherry red when everyone thought she was the culprit. I hate to admit it but it was an uncanny talent that he used often and well into adulthood.
Church was the best place to maximize our unusual talents. All those prim and proper parents with their well behaved children being oh so pious. Nothing would crack us up like two rows of God-fearing Catholics smelling an SBD (Silent But Deadly) that was so bad it would curl their nose hairs. You have to realize how much acting talent and restraint it takes to appear shocked and disgusted and still be laughing like crazy on the inside. It actually made church bearable for those of us who were only there for the fun.
The other church related scene was in the confessional during confession. It did my heart good to confess my sins, say an Act of Contrition, and then leave a nasty smelling fart for the next sinner and secondarily grossing out the priest as well. Aren’t old memories the best?
I suppose you’re wondering what prompted this entire conversation. Well I was in Walgreens recently, masked as usual and minding my own business while shopping. As I walked into the rear of the store in a back corner I passed two young ladies who couldn’t have been more than 13 years old. They were laughing and giggling as most young kids do and were just as cute as a button. It was only a few seconds later I discovered why they were laughing so hard. I walked into a cloud of the worst smelling methane in history. I normally have a strong stomach but this was almost more than I can handle. I stood there trying to catch my breath while they stood nearby laughing hysterically. They ran off giggling all the way while I took a moment or two to regain my composure. Karmic paybacks really are a bitch. That damn mask might stop Covid-19 but not farts like these.
I loved George Carlin and coming from me that is one of his greatest achievements. His comedy, except for his political views, was to me the best I’ve ever heard. Richard Pryor was right up there with him but to me Carlin was the epitome of what comics should be. His writings were just as good as his standup routine and they made you think. His English language wordplay was unbelievable and remains unmatched in my opinion to this day. He was also a better than average actor and I especially enjoyed his work in Jersey Girl from 2004. Along the way he won damn near every award possible for his work and it was richly deserved. One of his greatest moments to me was when he released his seven dirty words you couldn’t say on television. Here’s the short version of that historic event.
“I love words. I thank you for hearing my words. I want to tell you something about words that idea that I uh, I think is important. I love… as I say, they’re my work, they’re my play, they’re my passion. Words are all we have really. And the forbidden words, you know the seven don’t you? Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, Cocksucker, Motherfucker, and Tit’s, huh? Those are the heavy seven. Those are the ones that will infect your soul, curve your spine, and keep the country from winning the war.“
Just to show you how the times are changing I’ll tell you a quick short story. A number of months back just prior to the start of the pandemic I was sitting in our local mall in one of those half-assed living room areas where husbands can wait for their wives. A large group of teens arrived and surrounded me as they chatted away about the new iPad one of them had purchased. I sat there for no more than ten minutes and overheard six of the seven famous Carlin words. He was right, we can’t say them on TV, but you’ll sure hear them said everywhere else.
As I was paging through some of my records I came upon a posting that I wrote 11 years ago. My thanks again go out to a Kansas City contributor who assisted me in this endeavor. It had been prompted by a State of the Union message by the president at that time, King Obama. My posting was initially about how democracies tend to destroy themselves financially and as I read through it again I began to realize that since Biden’s election absolutely nothing had changed from then until now. Disregarding the costs of the pandemic to this nation which have been considerable, there are many other things that need to be looked at as well. Read these and weep.
The folks who are getting the free stuff don’t like the folks who are paying for the free stuff, because the folks who are paying for the free stuff can no longer afford to pay for both the free stuff and their own stuff.
And… the folks who are paying for the free stuff would like the free stuff to stop. And the folks who are getting the free stuff want even more free stuff on top of the free stuff they are already getting.
Now… The people who are forcing the people who pay for the free stuff have told the people who are receiving the free stuff that the people who are paying for the free stuff are being mean, prejudice, and racist.
So… The people who are getting the free stuff have been convinced they need to hate the people who are paying for the free stuff by the people who are forcing some people to pay for their free stuff and giving them the free stuff in the first place.
Now understand this. All great democracies have committed financial suicide somewhere between two hundred and two hundred and fifty years after being founded. The reason? The voters eventually figured out they can vote themselves money from the treasury by electing people who promised to give them money in exchange for electing them. The United States officially became a republic in 1776, two hundred and forty five years ago. The number of people getting free stuff is beginning to outnumber the number of people paying for the free stuff. Failure to change this terribly inequitable system could spell serious financial problems for all of us and for future generations. Do we as a people want to become another sad statistic on failed government?
It’s 6:15 in the morning and I’m in my man-cave preparing for my day. This is a quiet time that I have every morning and in many ways it’s the best part of my day. It’s the perfect place and time for quiet meditation and self-reflection. For some reason today I have an old friend of mine on my mind who passed away about a month ago. This will be my memorial to him.
We worked together over forty years ago for six years and when the company that we worked for went into bankruptcy we went our separate ways. At some point we reconnected and became the best of friends for the next thirty-five years. We never saw each other in person again, but e-mailed regularly. He was quite a character and anytime I’m writing a blog I think of him because over the years he must’ve written twenty-five novels worth of information and sent it to me. We talked about everything, family, friends, jobs, and anything that demanded our attention for analysis and sarcastic comments. He had one helluva a sense of humor.
All those years ago when we were still young enough to be concerned about what women thought about us, we were in a bar in Brockton, Massachusetts having a cold one or two or three. He’d been chatting up a young lady for about twenty minutes when he excused himself to make a restroom visit. I eased on down the bar next to the young lady and began to talk to her myself. I bluntly asked her, “What do you think of my friend?”, and she just started laughing and giggling. She said he’s really so damn funny and so smart, he’s kind of like an “Ugly Burt Reynolds”. That got me laughing hysterically and I used that term against him for the next thirty-five years. It just never stopped being funny and just as an aside, he never got the girl either.
We talked on the phone three or four times a year but we e-mailed at least four times a week. I know all about his family, his friends, his granddaughter, and all of those little things that friends share. I looked forward to hearing from him everyday and there’s now a real void in my life since he’s passed. We always had an agreement that if something happened to either of us we make arrangements for someone to contact the other to let them know. Neither of us ever did that. He assured me every time we communicated whether it was written or orally that he was “Still Vertical”. Almost every e-mail he sent me started with those two words and it became a “thing”.
There were so many days when he sent me funny, crazy, and interesting emails. We covered every subject you could possibly think of. Two months ago I went for three days without any contact with him at all. I knew he’d been sick and had been moved to a care center because of his age and frailty. I had no communication information for his family and had never talked to or met any of them. I was forced to go online into the Kansas City, Missouri area and run a search for recent deaths. That’s how I found out my friend was gone. My long Internet friendship was finally over. He was no longer “Vertical”.
It’s a sad commentary but a fact of life in these days of social media and Internet relationships. We all must adapt to our new circumstances. Thanks for reading this and just so you know:
My father was what I always considered a force of nature. He was big, strong, and opinionated, and never feared to speak his mind to anyone. My family on both sides of the tree were blue-collar immigrants to the United States and settled in western Pennsylvania. At that time the area was a maze of coal mines, steel mills, glass plants, and chemical factories. My grandfathers, uncles, and my father worked the mills and mines and were my role models. All of my friends fathers were the same and as kids we watched them march off to the mines and mills every day at 5 AM to return filthy and exhausted at 6 PM or later. Family was everything and taking care of them was every adults priority.
I was about seven when my father’s union went on strike. He didn’t receive unemployment insurance only a small stipend from the unions strike fund. The strike was mean and nasty and seemed to go on forever. My father was forced to find a part-time job to bring enough money home to pay for the basics. There was a government surplus food program that supplied us with 10 pounds of processed cheese every couple weeks, a box of powdered milk, and containers of my all-time favorite, powdered eggs. We survived on that stuff but it was god awful.
My father found a part-time job delivering coal. He’d arrive at the mine at 5:30 AM, pick up the dump truck and a load of coal, and begin his deliveries. He worked between 10 and 12 hours a day just to make $15 a day. He would arrive at the clients home, remove sections of a metal chute from the truck and clip them together to reach the coal chute of the house. He would then tip the truck bed up and push coal down the chute and into the residence. He collected the money from the homeowner and proceeded on to the next house. At the end of the day he turned in the money at the mine and went home.
I was seven years old and I wanted to be with my dad and help him and I bugged him to death to take me to work with him. He finally agreed that a couple of times a week I’d be permitted to ride along and help. So my dad and I delivered coal throughout the neighboring communities for the duration of the strike. Him doing all the work and me trying to help. We’d get home late, filthy dirty from coal dust, and hungry enough to even eat those crappy powdered eggs.
I saw what hard work really was all about by watching my dad. He never complained and always did what was needed to take care of the family. He returned to work after the strike without bitching and complaining and never looked back. He worked for that employer for another 35 years and eventually ran the maintenance department for the entire PPG complex. He eventually took his well-deserved pension, retired, and lived out the remainder of his life a reasonably happy person.
Those memories are what created in me a good solid work ethic. It made me something of an over achiever and that stayed with me throughout my own career until my retirement a few years ago. Everyone should be so lucky to have role models like that. If they did, then the term “work ethic” would never again be a concern or a point of discussion.
Every guy loves ogling women. It’s been that way forever and I don’t see it changing anytime soon. Women always claim to dislike being stared at but do they really mean it? I’ve had them try to tell me that they wear makeup, sexy lingerie, and revealing clothing just to look good for other women, not for men. Not a chance that’s true. They want to be stared at, whistled at, and ogled just as much as the men enjoy doing it. It’s that famous dance that the sexes do in this age-old mating ritual. If you look good your choices of acceptable mates increases exponentially.
Over the course of my life I’ve had many relationships. I’ve watched women try to walk that fine line with some difficulty. If you get too revealing you look like a slut. While many guys say they wouldn’t mind that, they’re in the minority. If you dress down too much you won’t attract those potential mating partners. So as a public service I’m going to supply you with my relationship tips and advice for women. Hold your applause until you’ve read them all.
Rule 1 – Look good but not too good. Just slutty enough to make his mouth water and to make his fantasies more interesting.
Rule 2 – Be flirty but not too dirty or off color. Just a hint of “bad girl’ is usually enough to drive most men over the edge.
Rule 3 – Drink enough but don’t get sloppy drunk. No one wants to have the woman they’re going to have sex with throwing up on them. Don’t laugh, it happens!
Rule 4 – Lay off the bad language except for during sex. Be coy at first and then turn into that bedroom slut he’s been hoping for.
Rule 5 – You may be more sexually experienced that he is so don’t show off. Save some of your better moves for later when he’ll think he motivated you to do them.
I can already hear you ladies out there mumbling under your breath about my opinions. Take a deep breath and relax, I’m just trying to help, that’s all. Who would know better about what men want than a man.
I’ve always been partial to women who look good but not too good. I’ve always fantasized about a woman who wears her long hair in a bun and only lets it fall as she’s walking towards the bed (in a non-slutty way) to have her way with me. It’s an old Victorian fantasy of mine where I spend a great deal of time peeling off layers of clothing, petticoats, bustles, and slips. After all that work she finally lets down her hair and I’m on my way. It still gives me shivers after all these years just thinking about it. Let me calm down for just a second while I recuperate.
Okay, I’m much better now but I did get a little flushed there for a moment. Lets get back to the topic. I’ve had dealings with a few women in my life and they fallen into any number of different categories. Beautiful, not so beautiful, and all points in between. Each one was a totally different experience, some good and some really bad. They can try and deny their innate desire to attract men but down deep in their hearts they know it’s the truth. They want a good man in a good relationship with kids, a dog, and a white picket fence. After all of that they also need and want to be the biggest slut they can be in the bedroom.
Today is not just a day of remembrance for me but for the descendants of nearly 1200 Jews saved from death at the hands of the Nazis during the Holocaust. Oskar Schindler died at the age of 66 in 1974. Being a member of the Nazi party made it possible for him to bribe officials and obtain forged documents. He placed himself and his family at mortal risk and when it was all said and done he was penniless.
As a member of the Nazi Party, he ran an enamel-works factory in Krakow during the German occupation of Poland, employing workers from the nearby Jewish ghetto. When the ghetto was liquidated, he persuaded Nazi officials to allow the transfer of his workers to the Plaszow labor camp, thus saving them from deportation to the death camps. In 1944, all Jews at Plaszow were sent to Auschwitz, but Schindler, at great risk to himself, bribed officials into allowing him to keep his workersand set up a factory in a safer location in occupied Czechoslovakia. By the wars end, he was penniless, but had saved 1200 Jewish lives.
In 1962, he was declared a Righteous Gentile by Yad Vashem, Israel’s official agency for remembering the Holocaust. According to his wishes, he was buried in Israel at the Catholic cemetery on Mt. Zion.
Years ago my favorite blogger, the late, great, Acid Man, wrote a few hundred words on swearing, cussing, and the differences between the two. I am nowhere near as eloquent as he but here goes anyway.
I come from an area in the country known for its blue-collar roots, coal miners, mill workers, and some downright bad ass cusser’s. Western Pennsylvania is arrogant in its pride of self and I find myself guilty of that at times. At age four I was sitting on a street corner in Natrona, Pennsylvania with my grandfather and swearing for nickels and pennies from his buddies. If by chance I yelled the ultimate motherfucker, I got a quarter and some ice cream. So you have to admit I come by swearing honestly.
Of course we were all raised as avid Steeler fans and if you didn’t curse loudly and often enough while watching their games then you were a horse’s ass. Any bastard who called some other son-of-a-bitch a rotten prick was a no good shithead or so I’ve been told. You always had to be ready to voice your support for the Steelers as they kicked the shit out of those pussies from Cleveland and those bastards from Houston (hopefully).
We lived in a diverse area with Irish, Poles, Slavs, Blacks, Italians, and the occasional Hispanic. To be a professional cusser in our neighborhood you had to know cuss words in at least six different languages to be properly understood. We were the UN of fucking, half-assed, dirty rotten language and damn proud of it.
I’ve now lived in New England for more than 37 years and I have to admit that the swearing here is a little more laid back than I’m used to. A little too polite and prissy for a boy from fucking Pennsylvania. I actually look forward to trips back home where I can walk into a bar after 37 years of living in New England and have someone say, “Hey, who let that motherfucker in here and is he buying the next goddamn round?”. It’s just not the same here in New England. Two F-bombs in one sentence seems to be too much for New England sensibilities. Well hell, if they don’t fucking like it they can kiss my fucking ass.
I’ve collected a large amount of miscellaneous information over the years and have saved only a small percentage of it. I only keep things that are interesting to me and a little unusual. Many of you may have seen the following information in the past in one form or another but many have not. Since it’s a lazy day here in Maine I’m sending this along for your amusement and also because of my inability to motivate myself this morning. These facts are truly strange and go well beyond the level of coincidence. Read on and enjoy some gruesome American history.
Abraham Lincoln was elected to Congress in 1846.
John F. Kennedy was elected to Congress in 1946.
Abraham Lincoln was elected president in 1860.
John F. Kennedy was elected president in 1960.
The names Lincoln and Kennedy each contains seven letters.
Both were particularly concerned with civil rights.
Both wives lost children while living in the White House.
Both Presidents were shot on a Friday.
Both Presidents were shot in the head.
Lincoln’s secretary was named Kennedy.
Kennedy’s secretary was named Lincoln.
Both were assassinated by Southerners.
Both successors were named Johnson.
Andrew Johnson, who succeeded Lincoln, was born in 1808.
Lyndon Johnson, who succeeded Kennedy, was born in 1908.
John Wilkes Booth, who assassinated Lincoln, was born in 1839.
Lee Harvey Oswald, who assassinated Kennedy, was born in 1939.
Both assassins were known by their three names.
Both names were composed of 15 letters.
Lincoln was shot at the theater named Ford.
Kennedy was shot in a car called Lincoln.
Booth ran from a theater and was caught in a warehouse.
Oswald ran from a warehouse and was caught in a theater.
Booth and Oswald were both assassinated before their trials.
And here’s the kicker
A week before Lincoln was shot, he was in Monroe, Maryland.
A week before Kennedy was shot, he was in Marilyn Monroe.
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