Archive for the ‘Humor’ Category
On any given day I’m never sure what’ll happen around here but today even surprised me a little. I was minding my own business and enjoying my life until I found a corpse in my driveway. I make it a point to be aware of what goes on around my residence by checking things regularly every day. I was able to determine the time of death based on my last patrol of the property and let me tell you that corpse was fresh.
With my investigative background it took only a quick glance to determine that this death was not accidental. . . . it appeared to be murder. I could plainly see the blunt force trauma to the head and several deep puncture marks along the side of the body. It wasn’t pretty.
‘Deadly head trauma to be sure.’
I closely searched the surrounding area looking for obvious clues but found nothing. This investigation really couldn’t be all that thorough because I no longer have access to the appropriate forensic equipment except for latex gloves and a big, old magnifying glass I found in a drawer.
In recent weeks there’ve been reports of suspicious behavior by a gang of delinquents (coyotes) roaming around the neighborhood after dark and wreaking havoc throughout the area. It’s resulted in the loss of a number of household pets and those guys are persons of interest.
‘He never had a prayer.’
There was no way to identify the body so we’ll just call him Mickey Doe. He had brown hair and a large unruly mustache. I was able to get a couple of photos of the body but they added very little to the investigation. As you can see this will be a difficult case to solve and I expect it will go cold rather quickly.
‘Some serious bite marks.’
My main suspect lives across the street and is often seen skulking around looking for trouble. He had motive and opportunity because I saw him just before finding the body as he was high-tailing it home to hide under the porch.
As of this report the case remains open. I was forced to remove the body from the driveway and reverently picked it up by the tail and tossed it into the woods. We have no refrigeration facilities here to store corpses.
Another sad and merciless loss of life here in Maine.
BE ON THE LOOK OUT FOR THIS GUY
FANGED AND DANGEROUS
All of us folks who love blogging seem to have that secret wish to be a published and recognized writer. We read the classics as students and are told by our teachers what great and wonderful authors they were. What they failed to explain was that these same incredible writers had private lives that were all too often a nightmare.
I’ve spent my life hanging out with creative types and have been amazed. I’ve found myself speechless at times after really getting to know them and seeing them for what they really are, just plain old, screwed up, and faulty human beings like everyone else. Without their creativity they’d be an average Joe with all the normal problems and complaints. Unfortunately that creativity gene has the bizarre ability to turn normal run-of-the-mill problems into absolute disasters. Boozing, drug use, and all too often an early and tragic death.
With that being said I thought I’d offer up some words of wisdom from some of our more creative celebrities. This is my lame attempt to show them as just regular folks with a huge twist. Let’s go . . . .
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“Listen, everyone is entitled to my opinion.” Madonna
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“I wish men had boobs because I like the feel of them. It’s so funny, when I record I sing with a hand over each of them. Maybe it’s a comfort thing.” Baby Spice
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“The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.” Oscar Wilde
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“I say no to drugs. But they don’t listen.” Marilyn Manson
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“I don’t want to achieve immortality through my work; I want to achieve immortality through not dying.” Woody Allen
In college I found myself living in a small community of artists of all types. We remained separate from the rest of the school for a number of reasons. First we dressed a little differently, we saw things a little differently, and we didn’t give a damn what other people thought about us. I wish I would’ve had the good sense to write down a few of the more profound quotes they offered up as we sat around drinking wine and smoking a fat one. We solved all the problems of the world but couldn’t remember any of the solutions the next morning. How ironic! Keep reading . . .
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“Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you walk into an open sewer and die.” Mel Brooks
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“If I had a choice of having a woman in my arms or shooting a bad guy on a horse, I’d take the horse. It’s a lot more fun.” Kevin Costner
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“It’s like when I buy a horse. I don’t want a thick neck and short legs.” Mickey Rourke, on his ideal woman
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“My advice to you is get married. If you find as good wife you’ll be happy; if not, you’ll become a philosopher.” Socrates
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“Where the hell is Australia, anyway?” Britney Spears
I could go on but I think I’ve made my point. Creative types normally spend a good part of their lives “out there” on the very edge of “the box” and occasionally fall all the way out. I’ve been called creative for most of my life and it never seems to be all that complimentary. It’s always “He’s very creative, but a little strange.” For most of us that’s our badge of honor and we wear it proudly.
Long Live the Strange!
I’m writing this mid-year review of my New Year’s resolutions and it seems I’m doing a little better than I’ve done in the past. Just as an FYI, here’s a copy of the disclaimer I used after completing my review of 2014’s resolutions.
“Four completed out of seven seems pretty good to me but I need to improve that next year. I’d really like just once to complete all of them but I always seem to get sidetracked with other stuff. I may need a few easy ones for 2015 that won’t require me to work so hard. With that thought in mind here is my new list.”
Here we go with this year’s results, so far.
A: COMPLETED, I actually increased my time to forty-three minutes per session.
A: COMPLETED, This one was easy.
A: COMPLETED: This one was even easier.
A: COMPLETED, Believe it or not I’ve been extra good with this. With the birth of a second grandson I will now remain F-Bomb free for at least another year and a half.
A: COMPLETED, and still going strong.
A: INCOMPLETE, It’s hard to break this one semi-bad habit but I’m trying.
A: INCOMPLETE BUT IMPROVED, I no longer feel the least bit tempted to prance even after receiving a number of rather nice emails from my anonymous admirers.
A: INCOMPLETE, I have a few new scars but he really deserves being messed with.
a: INCOMPLETE, I’m averaging just over 400 and I hope to make up some ground this summer.
So far this year I’m well on my way to accomplishing five resolutions out of nine. I’ll be working hard for the next six months to get my numbers up and in line with my predictions (eternal optimism is not my strong suit).
If I ever complete all of my resolutions in a given year it will be an effing miracle and the world will come to an end.
I’m not normally a person captivated by breaking news events nor do I feel the need to be the first person to spread the word about certain occurrences but today is an exception. So here goes. . .
I received a tidbit of news this morning from an anonymous source that my previously mentioned garden marauder, aka "The Skunk", may have been fatally injured during the night. I’m aware that my earlier threats against his life could possibly make me a person of interest in his disappearance and possible death.
I’ll probably spend the day waiting around for the inevitable arrival of the animal homicide investigators. I also heard there’s been a rash of similar deaths in the last few weeks and no real leads or clues have been discovered. It’s only a matter of time until they pick up the rumor of my blog and those rather inappropriate death threats.
At 3 am my source just happened to be nearby when the "The Skunk" was observed slowly slinking through my yard towards my garden. It just so happened that just as he was nearing the garden he was accosted by a couple of strangers. Within seconds loud and shrill screaming was heard by neighbors sounding much like someone being assaulted and badly injured. The screaming continued even louder but seemed to be slowly moving towards a nearby wooded area where it suddenly stopped. All was quiet in the neighborhood for the rest of the night.
After listening to that report and being the experienced criminal investigator I am, the next morning I hurried to the alleged crime scene. While I found no traces of blood or indications of a tussle I continued collecting what few facts that were available.
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Fact #1 – I actually heard the screams outside my bedroom window that night but saw nothing suspicious.
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Fact #2 – I found no evidence at the scene of violence being perpetrated.
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Fact #3 – My garden was untouched for the first time in weeks.
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Fact #4 – I personally saw no suspicious characters in the neighborhood that night nor did I hear anything that would help me identify the unknown subject or subjects (the UNSUBS).
The next day I was approached by two investigators who required me to supply them with an alibi for the time in question. Since they could find no forensic evidence at the scene they began the process of building a circumstantial case with me as their chief suspect. While my better-half was asleep beside me that night she was unable to verify my presence or supply me with an believable alibi.
‘Suspect #1’
Later that same day I heard a rumor that I immediately conveyed to the investigators concerning two suspicious and dangerous looking characters seen in the area. They’d been spotted with the victim near the scene of the alleged crime on the night in question by an anonymous source,who I refused to identify. They were very upset with me but I do have the constitution right to protect my sources.
“Suspect #2’
A little later in the day an APB was sent out to all nearby neighborhoods with a BOLO on these two suspects. They were described briefly as being similar in stature, approximately 24 inches tall, wearing shaggy overcoats, and with a mean and hungry look in their eyes. Other information received indicated they were members of a notorious local gang called "The Coyotes". Many suspicious deaths have occurred in the past in this area that were attributed to this gang but no arrests have never been made.
Hopefully this will get these pesky investigators off my butt. They’re now requesting all of my guns for ballistic testing on the side chance the victim’s body will eventually be located. I immediately checked with my attorney and we refused to give up my weapons. They left in a huff but there is no doubt in my mind that this matter wasn’t going to be dropped anytime soon.
Trust me, they’ll never find the body.
I’m still in bed this morning because it’s raining, I’m all warm and cozy, and I don’t wanna get up. The Spring season is slowly moving towards Summer and most of my ridiculous yard and garden related chores have been completed. Except for one.
I have to say that I’m still a bit irritated that I haven’t been able to put an end to my night marauder who is haunting my garden. For some reason for the first time in years I have an effing skunk who has been undoing most of my good works in the garden almost every night. This fat bastard has been patrolling our property for some years without ever bothering the garden. He apparently discovered an abundant supply of worms and/or grubs in the soil and has been digging for them furiously. The fact that he has killed many of my plants in the process is the source of my current anger.
‘This isn’t him but it could be his twin brother.’
On top of it all this damn skunk is huge. If he grows just a little more I could probably put a saddle on him and take a ride. He also has a habit of spraying anything and everything in his immediate area if bothered. A year of so ago the neighbor’s cat had a midnight run-in with him which resulted in our backyard reeking of skunk for many days. I really don’t want that happening again.
My secret plan was to sit on my deck with a pistol in my lap and hopefully put a stop to all of the night time nonsense. I sat quietly the first night until 3 am reading my Kindle and maintaining a close surveillance of the garden. It was a quiet night with no activity. Then it began to rain which immediately chased me off to bed. I slept the sleep of angels knowing that the garden was safe for the night. What a moron I am. I awoke in the morning and walked out to the garden and the place was a mess. He’d been busy digging up tomatoes, cucumbers, and a number of pepper plants and did it all in a driving rainstorm. To say I was not happy would be a huge understatement.
I spent the next night on the deck armed, dangerous, and pissed off. I never heard or saw a thing and the next morning more plants had been destroyed. That SOB is making me a little crazy. I’ve since replanted all of the damaged plants and I’ll continue to monitor things as best I can and rid myself of this pest.
I have a bad history withy skunks and as a young guy was known to hunt them. My father paid me and a friend a bounty for each one eliminated from damaging his garden. The smell of skunk still makes me a little queasy since I was sprayed one hot summer evening in 1962. I was on my knees looking under a shed for an escaping skunk and BAM, he was right there and sprayed me across the side of my head. Be warned, that is not something you ever want to experience. I was forced to shave my head by my mother and wash it thoroughly numerous times with tomato juice. Nothing really worked very well and for more than a month every time my head got wet or sweaty you could smell skunk. A lost a few friends that summer.
With any luck at all before summer’s end I’ll soon be posting a photo of his corpse. He’s mocked me long enough and now it’s personal.
My Rule #6 – Don’t screw with my garden, or else.
I decided to do that one big job I had scheduled for today before I blogged anything. That may have been a huge mistake. I’ve been putting off doing some repair work to my lawn tractor that still refuses to start. I knew it would be a frustration for me because I hate doing things mechanical. The only mechanical person in my entire family was my late father who maintained a large float-glass factory for PPG for more than forty years. He knew everything about machines and he taught me only enough to get me into trouble. He also over the years taught me how to really and truly cuss. I was never aware of how many cuss words could be strung together until I worked with him on a few of his projects.
Pop was a professional cusser and damn proud of it. I ‘m more like him than I care to admit and if today was any example I may be better now than he was then. This effing tractor is driving me insane. I was tempted today to just drive it out into the middle of the back yard, douse it with gasoline, and a have a freaking bonfire.
After I thought about it a while I decided that doing that would then turn into something else entirely. With my luck some A-Hole from the town might ride by, check to see if I had a burn permit, and then call the cops when they found out I didn’t. Then the cops would have appeared and issued me a citation which would have sent me right over the edge. That combined with my pissed off attitude over this tractor would have assured me of a ride to the county jail for some sort of disorderly conduct charge. I know for a fact I’d have used a lot of those good old cuss words my father taught me and then the cop would have cuffed me and dragged me away.
If all that had actually occurred it would have cost me a few hundred dollars in fines, a few hours in the jail, and a somewhat questionable relationship with the local police. Then I would have come home and the real punishment would have started. I’d have heard each and every one of my father’s favorite cuss words all over again from my petit but really loud better-half. Nothing on earth is worth sitting through that tirade.
With my common sense keeping me from a trip to the jail I ended up saving a few hundred dollars today. Now if I take that money and hire a real mechanic to fix this damn tractor I just might break even.
It’s funny how things just keep snowballing along whether we like it or not.
I just finished allowing the federal government and the IRS to peek into my business as they so love to do. The only people worse than them is Google. I figure in just a few years Google will take over the entire earth and make information slaves of us all. But that’s a topic for another day.
Each and every time I file a tax return I become moody, disrespectful, and rebellious and today is no different. I’m not motivated to do do much else so you will be inundated with a truckload of useless crap. I haven’t done this for some time so all complaints will be trash-canned.
Here goes nothing . . . .
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The first name of of TV detective Lieutenant Columbo was Phillip.
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The Flintstones lawyer who never lost a case was called Perry Masonry.
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Rita Hayworth’s real name was Margarita Cansino.
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Spencer Tracy said he would only take the part of the Penquin in the Batman TV series if he were allowed to kill Batman.
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Sylvester Stallone used to sweep the lion cages in New York’s Central Park Zoo to pay his way while trying to break into acting.
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Sean Connery once worked as a coffin polisher.
Are you captivated yet with this stream of meaningless nonsense. Don’t get up and walk away because I have a few more tidbits.
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After Harrison Ford’s brief 1966 appearance as a bell-boy in Dead Heat on a Merry-Go-Round he was told, “Kid, you aint got it.”
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Johnny Mathis dubbed Miss Piggy’s singing voice in The Muppet Movie.
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Liquid Paper was invented by the mother of Mike Nesmith of Monkee fame.
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Don McLean’s song “American Pie” is not named after the plane in which Buddy Holly died – the plane had no name, only a registration number: N3794N.
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Popeye’s girlfriend, Olive Oyl, wore a size 14A shoe.
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The Muppet Show was banned from TV in Saudi Arabia because one of it’s stars was Miss Piggy. Pigs are forbidden to Muslims.
And in keeping with the upcoming tax day . . .
Americans Use Sixteen Thousand Tons of Aspirin Each Year.
There’ll be no photographs today through no fault of my own. It was one of those days that I had a myriad of totally blah things to do. At the same time all of those chores were immediately placed on the back burner with the arrival of the grandson who was spending the day with us.
I was up early and on my way to a local auto repair shop for my annual car inspection. I knew there was going to be some added costs to this inspection when I couldn’t get my car started a few days ago. I made it to the shop, had the inspection completed, installed a new battery, and was on my way home by 9 am, no harm, no foul!
I arrived back home just after the grandson was dropped off by his mother and things got interesting very quickly. Let me just say this. If I ever see the Lady and the Tramp video again I’ll scream out loud. We also watched Alvin and the Chipmunks and of course Shrek one more blessed time. That’s four hours of my life I’ll never get back.
Needless to say our young man is beginning to talk a lot. Unfortunately only he really knows what he’s saying. As we sat and watched Shrek he talked nonstop for ten minutes as he told me something about the movie but I have no clue what it was. He rambled on and on and was laughing and giggling. I just nodded and smiled when I thought it was necessary and he was thrilled. Maybe someday soon when he’s a little older he’ll explain to me what the hell was so damn funny. It had something to do with the donkey but that’s about all I really know. He thought it was hysterical.
Later I invited him into the kitchen to keep me company while I made us breakfast. He loved the scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast and couldn’t wait to tell his mother I’d cooked for him. I was happy to get him into the kitchen at such a young age because it’ll make it so much easier to teach him how to cook on down the road. Once I tell him that most women love a man who can cook for them he’ll be hooked just like I was.
He just left with his mom, had an armload of movies, and a few stories to tell his dad later tonight. He’s just so much fun to spend time with but now it’s time for a serious nap because he wears me out.
This week begins the warm-up for one of my least favorite experiences I’ve been cursed with over the years. It’s a special gift passed on to me through the genes of my late parents and one I wish I could have refused. The secret word for today is COLONOSCOPY. I begin my preparations tomorrow for my seventh anal adventure and hopefully my last. Over the next few postings I’ll document as best I can within the limits of good taste the wonders of medical science I’m about to experience. Lucky you!
My introduction to colonoscopies began many, many, years ago in a galaxy far, far, away. After an annual checkup I was referred to a specialist for further exams and a possible bout with rectal and anal surgery for hemorrhoids and polyps. Trust me, it wasn’t as great as I’m making it sound. My very first meeting with the specialist lasted only ten minutes. I was given an armload of laxatives and and a large bottle of Citrate of Magnesia. I was handed a sheet of instructions on how to go about emptying my body of just about everything and a future date for my return visit was also confirmed. All of a sudden I found myself back on the street with a real desire to find out exactly what the hell a colonoscopy actually was. I needed to do some research quickly.
Two weeks later I seemed twenty pounds lighter after spending 48 hours within running distance of the nearest bathroom. It was a humbling experience as I did everything possible to expel my entire insides down the drain. I arrived at the doctor’s office and checked in at the desk trying not to make eye contact with anyone. It was a lot like going to a fertilization specialist to ejaculate into a plastic cup or buying tampons at Rite-Aid for my better-half. Totally embarrassing.
I was led into an examination room wearing one of those backless paper gowns with my butt sticking out. I was laid face down on the table which was then elevated high enough to put my head near the floor and my ass in the air. If that wasn’t humiliating enough there was a knock on the door and in marched ten student nurses who were permitted one at a time to take a peek at my butt, inside and out. They oooed and awwed as they passed by, took a few notes and marched from the room. Here’s a reminder for you. Never schedule a rectal exam at a teaching hospital. You’ve been warned.
Another twenty minutes passed by and my adventure began in earnest when a probe on the end of a cable with a flashlight, torch, and camera were slowly inserted further and further into my backside. They lightly drugged me and I was able to look up my own ass on a nearby television screen. It looked like a gigantic pink Holland Tunnel without the cars. I then fell asleep and awoke twenty minutes later feeling rather odd. My wife picked me up after I recovered a bit and took me home where I was able to get a few hours of drug induced sleep. It wasn’t much fun but unfortunately for me it was necessary. My surgery was successful and I received my second colonoscopy just two months later. The doctor apparently wanted to go back in to check his work. I just love thorough doctors.
Fifteen years later my family doctor gave me more bad news during my annual visit. Because of two colon surgeries on my late mother for cancerous polyps he felt I needed to be checked again. Colonoscopy number three came and went and I breathed another sign of relief. I was good to go for a while I thought.
Within a few years my mother had another cancerous piece of her colon removed and that triggered regularly scheduled colonoscopies for me for the foreseeable future. It’s now 2015 and I’m ready for number seven. The technology has improved dramatically over the years and the drugs are much better. Getting colonoscopies stopped bothering me years ago because the alternative is too ugly to think about. Over the years I’ve had upwards of ten to twelve very small polyps burned from my colon and fortunately none were cancerous. I plan on living a long and full life and these god awful procedures make that possible. No matter what anyone tells you, fear is an excellent motivator.
More to follow.
“This is a courtesy warning for those of you with weak stomachs. What you are about to read was written while under the influence of twenty different cold and flu medications. Proceed at your own risk.”
As my better-half and I lay here in bed this morning coughing and sniffling, I had a major epiphany. Basically the human body is a complex, disgusting, and disturbing mess. Let’s run down the list of my favorites things. We have farts, body odor, bad breath, smelly feet, and a host other smells that are best forgotten. We are easy infected with every virus imaginable and the medical research community is hard at work (so they say) to come up with answers and remedies for them. That doesn’t include the common cold of course. Nothing or no one seems to be able to find that super drug that will conquer that sneaky little disease.
Let’s not forget the biggest two items we first learned about as children, #1 and #2. Let’s call them what they are, urine and poop. I’m not sure what genius started the #1 and #2 nonsense but I’d bet it was some goody-two shoes afraid to say those two disgusting words. While he was standing around being disgusted he made a critical error. He forgot the all important #3, Phlegm aka mucus aka sputum. While urine and poop are smelly and disgusting phlegm rules. It comes in multiple colors and multiple textures and it never stops being produced. At least with urine and poop, you go once and your good for a while. With phlegm there’s no end. I could probably fill an Olympic size swimming pool with all of the phlegm my body has produced in my lifetime. In just the last twelve hours my better-half and I have produced at least twenty gallons each without even trying.
I actually prefer the term sputum rather than phlegm or mucus. It sounds much more sophisticated and medical. If someone says the word phlegm to me it immediately brings to mind a pearly little lugie. Lugies are even more disgusting because you can be targeted accidentally or purposely by one of those mean spirited and accurate lugie spitters. If someone says "I have a build up of sputum in my throat." It sounds a little less disgusting and more official.
So, what have we learned so far. First there should a #3 added to the lexicon to identify Sputum or phlegm or mucus. I’m really just trying to class things up a little for a change but no one wants to cooperate.
I see in our future a new national observance for Sputum Day. This substance has become as big a part of our miserable lives as #1 and #2 and in January and February may even surpass them. It deserves to be recognized and celebrated with parades and parties not just in the US but across the world. We already have Earth Day and I think it’s time for Sputum Day. The drink of the day can be green beer (stolen from St. Paddy’s Day) and laced with mayonnaise. A thick and repugnant drink that can really bring back memories of colds and flu from your childhood. There’s nothing better than a disgusting trip down Memory Lane.
Enough! This post is actually beginning to turn my stomach too. I’ll clean up my act when and only when I start to feel a little better. Meanwhile I’ll just keep producing all this phlegm and sucking down all these miracle cold and flu remedies that don’t really work. All they do is create more Sputum.
Don’t even get me started on Smegma.
