The goof of the magi.

Christmas!  Either you love it or hate it.  It can be filled with joy and sadness, sometimes both.

The little French lady decided that we should have a traditional Christmas this year.  I thought it was a good idea.  We both discretely hinted at what we would like for Christmas.  

The only hints were: I wanted an Apple product and she wanted something that smelled good or looked good. (Something other than me.)

On Christmas eve we opened our gifts.   I had an iphone.  I got my wife a nice sweater and a gift pack of Kama Sutra gift soaps, sprays, and perfumes.  I really liked the packaging of the product. It was kinda sexy.

My wife had my iphone all set to go and I was ready to roll.  I called a few friends and relatives.  She called her family in Canada.  We had a very nice evening.

The next day we decided we would eat out.  We got all spiffied up.  We were looking good. She wore her new sweater and had bathed in her new bath oils from Kama Sutra.  She drove, I texted and called friends.  I enjoyed texting very much. (LOL!!)  I learned all the funny little smiley faces and shortcut abbreviations.

We had a very enjoyable dinner.  I enjoyed eating and texting (LOL!!!)  My wife...not so much.  

The waitress asked, "Would you like dessert, Sir?"  

Me:"CAN'T YOU SEE I AM ON THE PHONE RIGHT NOW?  ARE YOU BLIND?"

Waitress: "Would you like the rest of your meal in a doggie bag?"

Me: (dirty look) "WHAT...EVER...!"...Listen Mike,  I gotta go.  Some waitress is annoying the hell out of me.  See ya!!!! (pushing a button) "Dave, sorry to keep you on hold so long, some waitress was annoying the hell out of me.....Dave?....Dave?"

Me:"NOW SEE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE? YOU NINNIE!!!"

Wife: "Please, let's go home.  I don't feel so good."

Me: "Wow! Not only is the wait staff rude, but the food makes you sick.  What a joint."(LOL!) "I'll drive. You don't look so good.  Your eyes are all puffy and your breathing kinda weird." 

She got in the car and immediately fell asleep.  

I got her home safe and sound.  It was a bit of an adventure. 

As it turned out she was not asleep. She was unconscious.  She had a severe reaction to the wool sweater (she had an allergic reaction) and the bathsoap and perfumes (also allergic to that).  She is fine now.

I thought I would try to text while driving.  It's legal.  My wife was asleep.  She wouldn't know.  The road is nice and straight.  This will be a piece of cake.

I thought things were going really well until I got about 3 miles from home.

Apparently some County cop is annoyed because she has to work Christmas day.

County Cop: (hereafter referred to as CC) "Could I see your license and registration please?"

Me: "Sure....as soon as I am done texting some people in Ecuador."

CC: "NOW!!!!"

Me: "OK! You don't have to be rude."

Me: "Is there a problem officer?"

CC: "Yes, you have been driving on the sidewalk for the last 2 miles."

Me: "Impossible!! My wife would have told me."

CC: "Wife? What wife? I only see this very tired and bruised dog with its leash hooked to your side mirror."

Me:"I don't own a dog. You have the wrong guy. "(LOL!!!)

CC: "Yeah. You hooked onto the dog when you ran over the ladies toes."

Me: "What lady?"

CC: "The one that was standing by the mailbox with her dog on the leash, fool!"

Me: "Where's my wife? She's not feeling good.  She ate some bad food."

CC: "She's probably not feeling much better right now.  She fell out of the car when you ran over the mailbox.

Me: "Oh...no!  She had my doggie bag on her lap."

CC: "She's fine.  She landed on the lady at the mailbox."

Me:  "OK...can I go now?"

CC:  "Not so fast, speedie.  Have you been drinking?"

Me: "Nope!!!"

CC:  "Well, I guess you haven't broken any laws in South Carolina.  Try not to drive on the sidewalk any more.  I see you are a Republican.  You have a "Goldwater" bumper sticker. That's good enough for me. Return the dog to the lady with the flat toes, pick up your wife and drive safely and have a Merry Christmas."

Me: (texting)  Hey Juan, CC thought I was Republican. LMAO...WTF. CU N July.

My wife is recovering nicely.  It was allergies for sure. She has red welts all over her body and tomorrow she will be able to talk normally and see again. My wife also smashed my iphone with a sledge hammer.  She said it was an accident.  I am not too sure.  We didn't own a sledge hammer until this morning.

Olditude (and how to deal with it)

I am sure you have heard of the movie where the young boy says, "I see dead people."
Not me!  I see old people.  They are everywhere.  You can't avoid them.

A lot of these people think they are dead people, or act like dead people, but they are somewhat alive.  I think the Republicans are trying to phase them out in the same manner as they are trying to eliminate the middle class.

I see dead people...or ice.

I get a little nervous about this because the Republicans in congress are talking about a "Swift proposal".  I didn't get alarmed until I realized that they had capitalized "Swift".
Huh, like the name Swift as opposed to doing something quickly.  This must be Congressman Al Swift from Washington state.  I called Al on the phone... no answer. Turns out he retired in 1995.  So I googled Swift proposal. What came up alarmed me.   It referred to Jonathan Swift's "A Modest Proposal."
This can't be good.
The word on the street is: Pfizer has come up with a tasty formula for Soylent Gray and your younger senators and congressmen are buying pfizer stock like it was going out of style.

Martha Stewart, you can't buy this stock.  This is inside information. Your rep in congress can buy this stock.  OK?....No?  Too bad for you! You don't want to go back to jail and make more burlap dresses, do you?

Moving on to other  new "old business".
Recently a fellow blogger was talking about an "old" friend's problems.  The moral of the story was; "Don't get old."  Actually I prefer "old" to the alternative of not getting old.
Yes, it is fraught with obstacles and hoops that you have to jump through when you are least able to deal with it.  Such things as health insurance, driving after dark, getting my senior citizen discount at KFC or Dunkin Donuts, keeping track of my medications, convincing people my mind is as sharp as it ever was, getting my senior citizen discount at KFC or Dunkin Donuts.....ummmm...getting my.... and other things.

New "New business": This comes under the heading of helpful hints for a happy senior citizen. (AKA: Old coot, curmudgeon, geezer, ye olde farte, walking fossil) and that is just the guys!!!
Here we go.
Hint: Never take a laxative and a sleeping pill the same night.
Be prepared for nasty comments from people you least expect it from.

example: My wife told me to iron the shirt that I was wearing.  It was too wrinkly.
The thing is; I was not wearing a shirt.

Open for debate: Wouldn't obituaries be a lot more interesting if it told you how the person died?
Guy stuff? shirts get dirty, underwear get dirty, socks get dirty.  Pants (trousers) never get dirty and you can wear them forever.
End the debate: Is the glass half full or half empty? George Carlin said the glass was too big, no more philosophical debates. subject closed.
Yeah, Really?....I am tired of watching the Miss Universe contest.   Every year Miss Earth wins, Alpha Centauri wasn't even mentioned, no Romulan women, no Vulcan women, Venus, the planet of Love....not mentioned.  I think the fix is in again this year.

Ahead of their time: Books that were not allowed in my school in 1960.

• "The boy who died from eating all his vegetables"
• "Dad's new wife, Robert."
• "That's it, I'm putting you up for adoption."
• "Strangers have the best candy."
• "Lolita"

Yet another philosophical question: I just read about a funeral home that burned down.
Sadly, there was someone's dear one waiting to be cremated when it burned down and he was accidentally cremated.  My question is: How much should they charge the family of the deceased for their services?

Hysteria!!!  Did you cry when Kim Jung il died? I must say I did get caught up in the television coverage?  (OMG....WTF???...sniff..sniff..sob..sob!)
My wife and I wept  and wailed shamelessly.  Our neighbors came over to find out what was wrong.  They left in tears. We are not sure whether they were laughing or crying.

A review of Republican candidates:


Rick Perry: OMG!!!!...He makes George Dubbaya seem like a Rocket Surgeon. It must be the drinking water in Texas.
Mutt Romney? He lost me when he told a gay soldier that the writers of the constitution were against gay marriage.  Really?  I just perused the constitution.  I must be missing a page; it must have to be with the section that solves the slavery problem, and the women's rights problem.
Could someone mail me that page? I seem to have lost that one.
Herman Cain:  A black president? Never happened.  Where was he born?
Michelle Bachmann: She is much cuter than the other candidates. Other than that, a big "L",  as in Loser.
All others: Pathetic....
Mitt?....oh!

But seriously.....  There actually is A VERY GOOD BLOG FOR SENIORS.  It is "Suddenly Senior" by Frank Kaiser.  Even people who are not senior citizens should take a look.  Hopefully some day you will be a senior citizen.  This blog covers a lot of territory.  Some very serious topics, some not so serious.
Frank says he is old as dirt.  In fact, he knew dirt when it was still a rock.

OK...I feel better now.  I am so over Kim Jung il.  No more weeping shamelessly although I must admit I am a little misty eyed...but life goes on.

A Christmas story? Or not!!!

"Like an overripe beefsteak tomato rimmed with cottage cheese, the corpulent remains of Santa Claus lay dead on the living room floor. The family's little rat terrier walked up to the prone body and defecated on its unbreathing chest, as restless reindeer shifted their hoofs noisily on the roof of the house."

Hmmm!  I am having a bit of trouble writing my Christmas story this year. It doesn't seem to be going in the right direction. Once again I have killed the main character in the first paragraph.  I seem to do that a lot.  I guess there are too many things on my mind.  Perhaps I will win the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction contest this year for the best "It was a dark and stormy night" prose .

Many questions that I saw on a website called"That's my answer."  have been nagging at me.

One question was: If you were a superhero and you had super powers, what would they be?

I know the answer now.  I would be Super Senior Citizen Man. 

I even know what super powers I would have.

• The ability to hear complete conversations without saying "huh?..what?"
• The ability to see things without my glasses.
• The ability to smell and taste food, flowers, coffee.
• The ability to walk without my hip hurting.
• The ability to sleep on my right side, pain free.
• The ability to sleep the whole night without getting up and going to the bathroom.
• The ability to remember where I put my glasses so I could find the bathroom.
• The ability to remember if I took my BP medicines.
• The ability to get out of bed and stand up straight.
• The ability to watch a television program without falling asleep.
• The ability to have voluntary BM's.

My wife (thw little French Lady) sees some of my inabilities as a good thing. A case in point would be my skill at cleaning up Wilson's litter box every morning.  She will not come down the stairs until this is done.  She has tried several times to show up before it is done and she starts gagging and she runs upstairs screaming, "It burns my eyes! It burns my eyes!!!"  

Now that I think about it, even Wilson tries to avoid his own essence after he uses the litter box.  He will sprint up the stairs like a bullet.  

No fifteen year old cat should be able to move that fast without a strong motivation.

It smells pretty bad...I am told.

This is a start for Super Senior Citizen Man.  A  cape and wearing my underwear on the outside will be a nice touch also.

I would need a faithful companion, a sidekick, of course. Every super hero has one.

I would actually have two.  I would have "General Practitioner Man", who would assure my ongoing success as "Super Senior Citizen Man"  by dispensing prescriptions, and "Pharmacy Girl", who would assist GP Man with my medications such as Prozac, medical cannabis in pill or brownie form (for glaucoma, of course). 

What!!!??? I don't live in California? Or Vermont?...never mind.

I would need some sleeping aids, for sure.  I go to bed and my mind races like a three year old after drinking two cups of coffee and a Jolt cola.

These questions on "That's my answer" drive me crazy.  

The other day someone asked, "If you could, in what city would you like to be a taxi driver."  

I picked Vatican City.  Short trips.

I think about these things while trying to sleep.  Last night I was thinking about taxes.

I understand the concept. I am confused about how are taxes are spent.

The government will spend huge quanities of money to send PFC John Doe to Iraq and Afghanistan with top of the line equipment. When he gets home, they dump him on the street shell shocked, missing a leg, homeless and basically say "We are done with you now don't bother us". Sad, but true...

The night before I agonized over how to fold fitted sheets.  I also wondered why the first testicular guard, "the cup" was used in hockey in 1874 and the first  helmet was used in 1974.  Does this come down to manly priorities?  This is proof that man is evolving.

I live at the beach.  Boccie players have small balls.  I think they should use bowling balls instead.  Their little balls take up too much room on the beach.  I don't want to get whacked in the head by someone's stray balls flying through the air. 

Last Wednesday night worry: Pockets on a thong.  Good idea or bad idea? Discuss amongst yourselves...

Tuesday night, "euphemisms" kept me awake.  I was trying to find a nice way of saying "vomiting". The choice that comes to mind: Unplanned reexamination of recent food choices.

Well, I guess it is time to get back to my Christmas story.  All Righty then!!!

"The shrieking of happy little children is heard in the background as they descend the stairs before entering the living room to open their presents."

Uh oh....! I don't think this is going to end well.  
Perhaps I should email my pal, Stuart Woods again. Yeah, He's my pal...I tell you!!!!  He got me out of my last writing blunder.

Anderson Cooper and other hairy issues

Goodbye Doctor Phil.

No more hair raising stories.

No more road trips, I have a daily program.

The little French Lady and I have watched Doctor Phil for eight years.  One day, while we were watching Phil, he looked into the camera and said, "How's that working for you?"  My wife and I looked at each other and said, "It's not, Dr. Phil."

We had heard his home spun pithy maxims at least a few hundred times.  I think I could do his program if he decides to go on vacation or retire.  The only thing required of me for hosting his show will be to say three things.  

• How's that workin fer ya?
• This ain't my first rodeo.
• No matter how thick the pancake, it still has two sides 

Obviously he has not seen my mother's pancakes.  They were so thick that they qualified as having three sides.

But once again I digress.

We grow weary of you, Doctor Phil.

We are moving on but we have a problem.  My wife and I tend to take on the persona of the favorite television people that we admire.  Someone who has the same core values as we do.

I must model myself after someone new.  I have eliminated numerous candidates.  It is down to Andy Rooney,  Larry King, or Anderson Cooper.  

• Andy Rooney   (deceased)
• Larry King  (I do not own suspenders or a bowtie)
• Anderson Cooper (We both have similar hairstyle and color)

That was easy.

Now the little French Lady must decide who she is going to model herself after.

It is down to Judge Marilyn Milian of "People's Court" , Judge Judy of "Judge Judy", or Sarah Palin of "I can see Russia from my front porch", and I believe she was involved in politics at one time.  We both like Rachel Maddow.  I think she is a hottie.  My wife just smirks and says, "okey...dokey.  Good luck with that."
What....?????....!!!!!

We both like to watch Judge Judy.  Judy gets a little cranky occasionally.  We both have taken on her persona lately.
The other morning when I was in my pre-coffee stupor and barely aware that I was actually awake, my sweetie said something to me which apparently bounced off the outer edge of my cranial cavity.  She was not pleased.
She found a pencil or a hammer or some pointy instrument and whacked it off the table surface.
I lifted my befogged head and she took her two fingers closest to her thumb, pointed them at her eyes and shook them.
"Here!!...look here. Not at the ceiling or the floor. Here!!!"
I just looked up and said, " It was a gift, your honor."
She really does have her Judy moments.

In the morning I am more like Rick (OMG!!!!) Perry.  I would really like to be more like my buddy, Anderson.
It is too bad about Anderson.  He just had his first cup of coffee last week on his television show.  He had a hyper coffee buzz.  He likes it but I don't think he needs it.

I suppose the second choice of personas I might choose to be is Mike Holmes of "Holmes on Homes." and "Holmes Inspection". He is a Canadian guy who fixes other contractors' goofs.  His program is very popular on HGTV.
This guy looks a lot like me.  He is built like me. His hair is the same color as mine. (My wife made me strike the other two sentences.)
She took a pencil, whacked on my keyboard, pointed two finger at her eyes and said, "Look here......seek.... professional.... help!!!!"
Hah! I know a lot more about contracting and fixing houses than she thinks.

"That's ridicoolus!!!"

One day I was lining up nails. Some of the nail heads were facing left and some were facing right.  I told her the ones facing left were inside nails, the ones facing right were outside nails.  I told her I needed more left nails so I sent her to the hardware store.
She was very annoyed when she got back.  She kept saying, "That's ridicoolus!!!". Just like Judge Judy.

Just when I think I have lost her to Judge Judy,  she will come up with some Cuban homily of Judge Marilyn Milian.
So it's been decided.
I am going to model my life after Mike Holmes and my sweetie is still trying to decide between Ellen De Generes, Michelle Obama or Nancy Grace.
Huh...?...what?

Senior moments (Relativity explained here!)

Bullets for a better world.

Yesterday my wife, the little French lady, explained relativity to me and she didn't need Einstein around to explain it. She used the three hair theorem. 

• If I had 3 hairs on my head that wouldn't be very much hair.  If I had those same three hairs floating in my soup, that's a lot of hair. It's relative.  See...no Einstein required.
• Ahhh....Relativity.  When I was growing up the superheros wore their underwear on the outside and had big capes.  In the fifties they were called Superman, Batman, Captain Marvel.  Now they are called Interior Decorators or Rap singers.
• In the 50's these Superheros had young companions or proteges who lived with them. In the 50's that was OK.  Now the men would be called Monsignor.
• When Superman was a child and his  "mother" made his "uniform", what kind of thread and scissors did she use to cut and sew the cloth?  I worry about this stuff.
• I am trying to learn Spanish.  Those people have a different word for everything. When I visited Montreal,  I thought if I talked louder they would understand me.  I asked my wife what was wrong with these people?  Why aren't they speaking English?  Didn't you tell them about my impending visit?   She said she forgot.

• When I was growing up in the fifties, my dad worked, my mom stayed home. We owned our house,  my father bought a brand new 1955 Chevy,  our health plan was taken care of by my dad's employer. Everybody in our town was a Republican.  We wondered why anyone would be a Democrat.  We knew nothing of poor people, civil rights, poor schools.  We knew nothing of that other world.
• Times change.  We elected a black Democrat president.  My dear republicans are furious.  How could this happen?  I wonder?  Could it be that their leadership is less than inspiring?  Are George Bush, Dick Cheney, and Sarah Palin the cream of the crop?  Yikes.  Could it be that a majority of americans are concerned about things such as health care?  I really don't care if he was born in Kenya or Hawaii.  
• Rick Perry: OMG!!!!!!
• Former Presidents: George Washington? Father of our country? That is the only thing he fathered.  He had no children of his own.  James Madison? Ditto!!
• President James Garfield was assassinated by...his doctors.  Yeah, yeah...I know. Someone shot him.  If the doctor had left him alone he would have recovered.  He had seen 16 different doctors.  Sadly they poked around inside him trying to find the bullet.  While doing so, they lacerated his liver, he got an infection and died 89 days after he was shot.   An autopsy showed the bullet encapsulated. Oops!!
• Wakes! What a wonderful tradition.  Wakes were started because people in the olden days had a nasty habit of burying people who were still alive. Someone suggested they hold off for a few days before we bury this unmoving person.  The person may "wake" up.  I know I would be real cranky if I woke up from a big hangover, inside a pine box wearing a tie, white shirt and a suit coat, and jockey shorts.  "Hey, get me outa here. My mouth feels like I ate cotton candy. Where's my pants and socks?  What are these pennies doing on my eyes?"  I am sure this could have happened to a few of my Irish ancestors.
• People are protesting the Wall Street shenanigans? What took so long?  The liberal's answer to the Tea party?  Isn't this almost Anti-American and unpatriotic, Rush? 

I just had to get this stuff off my chest, along with those three hairs I just shaved off.

Gotta go to lunch now.

What's that floating in my soup?  Relativity?

The Coffee clatch gang.

Making new friends?

Yesterday I realized that I miss the companionship and fellowship of my male friends, so my wife ordered me out of the house until I found some cronies to hang out with.
She is the one who used the word "cronies", I did not!

Her thinking was;young guys have friends, old guys have cronies.
I qualify as old.  You may qualify as old if the hair in your nose and ears grows faster than on your head.  In fact, I nearly lopped off my ear last week trying to trim my ear hair, but that is another blog.  Let's not get off topic here.

So, here I was, quicked out of my own home by the Little French Lady... searching for a spot to meet my crony friends.  I thought I might give the Starbuck's down the street a try. I had packed my Man gear.  My GPS, my binoculars, my Ipad, my Mental Floss magazine, I put on my Mental Floss T-shirt (The one that says, "I would give my right arm to be ambidextrous"), my wrap-around sunglasses and my sparkling wit.
I was off.

Upon arrival to Starbuck's I ordered my latte and my danish.  I gave the woman with the spanish name my $20 bill and she asked if I wanted change back.  I said, " of course!!!"
She returned a quarter, a dime and two pennies.
Huh!...oh well,  I shall commence to making friends now.

I sat a table with a nice looking young lady. She had her MacBook out and was typing like a person possessed.  She paused.  I said, "MacBook?..I have a MacBook."
She looked up and glared at me.  I figured I better straighten her out so there was no misunderstanding.
"Oh.....I'm not flirting with you.  I'm here to meet men."  Something didn't sound right about that statement.
She glared.  I looked around.  Everybody was in their own little world.  One guy was reading the Sunday New York Times. (It was Thursday).  One woman was doing a spanish lesson on her computer.  "Como esta Usted?"  I kept hearing her say that.  Finally I hollered out, "Muy Bien, Gracias!!"
More dirty looks.  It was like I pooped on the table.  People started complaining to the spanish waitress.  I guess her name was senorita Barista, she didn't look spanish.

Finally, out of desperation, I took out my Ipad.  I emailed my wife, "Can I come home now? Everybody hates me at Starbucks."  She emailed me back and told me to try a different location.  I got up to leave.  I said, "Adios, everyone."
I received a standing ovation.

I walked for about 15 minutes in the opposite direction.  I noticed this place called "Jimmie's Hole in the Wall."  written on a theater marquee above the establishment.
The parking lot was full of pickup trucks with rifle racks in the rear windows, or confederate flags on the antennae.
I walked to the clerk and ordered a cup of coffee.  "That will be 30 cents."
Wow, I like this place already.  I noticed a bunch of guys standing around a round table talking.  I walked over and found an open spot at the "round table".  They were actually talking to each other.  They all said, "How yawl doin?" I looked around.  There was no one behind.  They were talking to me!!!!  I loved this place.

The floors were kind of quirky.  They were at an angle, very much like an old movie theater.
"Where yawl from?" a guy named Joe Willie asked.  I said I lived a few streets away off ocean Blvd.
"You lie!!!!!!" Joe Willie hollered.  That brought huge laughter to the rest of the group. Shoulders were convulsing, many were snickering mixed in with a few tee-hees and guffaws.
One guy, named Marko,  raised his hand and everyone stopped laughing immediately.  "What Joe Willie is saying is that you don't sound like a native of South Carolina."
"Oh,...I am originally from Vermont."
"Vermont?...Isn't that where that Jewish Communist Congressman lives?..Burley Sanger!"
"Do you mean Bernie Sanders, Joe?"
"Yeah, That's the guy. The Communist Jew guy."
"Bernie's a socialist, Joe."  I answered.
"Yeah, well...He is still a jew. How do you expect me to trust him.  This guy has high regard for Moses. Yeah...Moses.....The guy who wandered around the desert for 40 years.  He wouldn't man up and ask directions after God parted the Red Sea.  Would I follow this guy?  No way!!!  and to compound matters he had a bunch of people behind him and nobody tapped Moses on the shoulder and say after about 13 years, 'Moses, the sun rises in the east and sets in the west.  What's your plan?" "

Hmmm...this guy, Joe Willie has some valid points; he has obviously thought about Bernie and Moses quite a bit.

Marko,  (the guy who had everyone stop talking when he raised his hand) was held in high regard by the people at the round table.  He talked fondly about his travels on the Appalachian Trail and his frequent trips to Argentina to visit his soulmate and fiance.
He seemed quite puzzled by the Catholic religion.  He understood the concept of heaven and hell.
Heaven good, hell bad.
Marko was thinking about switching to Catholism for his fiance.
He was mystified by the other places located in between...
Heaven, Hell, Limbo, Purgatory and Bridgeport, Connecticut.
I have been to Bridgeport.  If I die and end up there....hmmmmm. It ain't heaven.
Marko, Bubba, Joe Willie, and Billy Jeff seem like a bunch of nice guys.  I enjoyed listening to them.  They are a funny bunch.  The coffee taste great, the price is right.
I will email my wife and tell her I have met some new friends and I am on my way home.

"See Yawl tomorrow."

Misinformation Hotline

One of our many experts. (only two actually)

Misinformation Hotline
from the Hemlock Institute

This is a service I will be providing to the American public starting October 1st (Mayday).  I will be answering questions based on my personal database and prejudice.  The answers have no basis in fact and if I have answered it factually it is totally accidental.


*************************************

My first question is from J.R. in Wisconsin. 

She inquires:Was Obama really born in Kenya?

Answer:......HELLLOOOOOO!  Did you just crawl out of a cave.  Yes, It is a well established fact that he was born in Kenya. (SOURCE: Rush Limbaugh, Glen Beck)

Ms B.S. from California want to know: Do we really have the best healthcare system in the world?

Answer:HAARRUUMPPPPFFFF!!!! Apparently there is quite an elaborate cave system in California also.  Yes, B. S., We have the best health system in the world.
When I say "we", I am, of course, referring to the U.S. Congress. My source would be John Boehner.  The rest of the country? The best healthcare system? Not so much.

My next question is from Rick P. in Texas.  He says that Mexicans are coming across the border and stealing his jobs.  He wants to know what he can do about this travesty.


Answer: Well, Rick, It looks like you should find a different profession other than gardener, fruit harvester, or lawn maintenance because that is the jobs they are taking.  I suggest perhaps something in the customer service field.  perhaps you could be a greeter at Walmart.  Let me give you a little test.  Finish this statement.
"Do you want (a) flies (b) fries (3) to cry (d)all of these.....with your Whopper?"
There is no correct answer, Rick.  so feel free to answer honestly. (I'm lying..there is a correct answer.)


The next question is from H.H. in Connecticut.  
She ask (or aks) "My job has been outsourced to India, I think.  I went to my office this morning.  It was empty.  There was a phone # on the door telling me where I could pick up my severance pay.  I called and a girl named Brittany answered.  She had an Indian accent. I aksed where I could pick up my check and she said, "Bangalore...umm..Street"
There is no Bangalore Street in my town.  I checked on Google maps. What should I do?"

Answer:  Yes, you have been outsourced.  It is a new tradition in our country to put profit ahead of people.  I will give you some satisfaction to know that Brittany's job will be outsourced to China at the end of the year.  Indians are starting to demand a living wage.  What should you do?  Collect unemployment and welfare while the infrastructure of the U.S. of A. crumbles and Congress says, "Hmmm...What should we do? 
"Ummm...let's see.  There are many well educated people out of work, unable to pay their mortgage and the bridges, Highways and cities are crumbling.  I just don't see a solution.  This is really a conundrum.  Hey, since we are mostly lawyers maybe we should sue somebody.  I wonder what Rush Limbaugh would do?"


My next question is from a J. G. in NYC.  She ask the question, " We have the "No child left behind" concept at her son's school.  He cannot count to ten or write his name and he will be graduating in June.  What should I do?"


Answer: Not to worry, Miss G.  If your son can dribble a basketball he will be eligible for a scholarship.  He does not wish to go to college, he can probably get himself into the welfare system and be eligible for free education, housing, food, health care for himself and his 13 year old girl friend who is pregnant and will want a boob job after the birth of her third child in December.  
Note: The likelihood of him getting a job in this economy is nil anyway, so go with the flow.


My next question is from a Mr. O.J.S. who is currently incarcerated in a penitentiary somewhere in Nevada.  He would like to know how he could get in touch with Casey Anthony.  He would like to know if she is dating anyone. 
He states,"We seem to have a lot in common.  I am looking for someone who will help me find my wife's killer.  You seem to have a similar experience with the U.S. justice system."
Answer: At this time Casey is looking for someone to father her next victim..child. To become eligible send $1000 and a biography, pictures, DNA sample and a short video of you dancing to: Jose Baez, Orlando, Florida.  He will contact her after reviewing your application.


HEADLINE from the National Inquisitor: (THIS JUST IN!!!!) 
From Kim in Wisconsin
Dancing with the Stars, the Felony Edition will premier next season. So far they have lined up Casey Anthony to dance with John Walsh of America's Most Wanted
and they all ready pulled a coup when they got O. J. Simpson out on a work release program so he could dance with Lindsay Lohan.  Also Phil Spector will be out to dance with either Heidi Fleis or Tanya Harding.  Tanya, when asked about fellow competitor, Casey Anthony, She was heard to say, "I'd like to kneecap that bitch."
Nancy Grace will be dancing with Joran Van Der Sloot who will also be on a work release program in Peru.  They will do a very passionate Tango together. I hear he can do a killer Tango.


And one final question for today and it comes from Mr. C.S. of Hollywood, California.  He queries, " Is tiger's milk really good for you?"

Answer: "Yes, it is Charlie.....errrr..Mr.C.S., It is very good for you. The deal is,  if you are the one milking the tiger, you probably don't need it."

Well, if anyone needs any questions answered by the Hemlock Institute, feel free to submit a question.  I will answer it.

A good idea!! If you are tall!!!

My Wild Irish Rose and other companions

Wine Tasting Misadventures

What's the word?...Thunderbird?

She was my mistress and companion on my nightly excursions in the world of youthful sleaze.
I tried to sleep with her on numerous occasions.  Sometimes I was successful, but usually she would get my head spinning and my stomach all queasy.  She had that intoxicating demeanor.

Yeah, she was cheap, but she was sweet.  Cheap wine usually is. Wild Irish Rose is the cheapest.  I have some bittersweet memories of WIR and bittersweet would pretty much describe the taste.  What can one expect for 60 cents a bottle? This wine makes Ripple taste like a winner at a wine tasting contest.  In fact, during my adolescence my friends and I became connoisseurs of cheap wine.

In New York in late 50's and 60's the drinking age was 18.  We were not intimidated by that lofty distant number.  We were not going to wait two or three years before our lips would taste the nectar of the gods.  We were ready.

My friends Jim and Andy had very little money.  This did not dampen our eagerness for an adventure in wine tasting.  We would simply bum money until we had enough to buy a bottle or two of Wild Irish Rose.
We would sneak into the woods nearby, break open the bottle,  take a healthy sip, slosh it around in our mouths and spit it out, look at each other and comment on the bouquet as a knowledgeable wine taster would do.
"Gasoline" Jim would shout. "low test, I might add".
"Kerosene", was my rejoinder. "1957...a good year for kerosene."
"Rancid grape soda with a hint of putrefied toe cheese", was Andy's comment.
"Ah...You have the benefit of both wine and cheese in one bottle.  A bit of luck for you, sir", Jim added.

After a few attempts we got to the point where we could swallow the wine without gagging.  We stopped spitting it out.

We moved on to a higher class wine rather quickly.  We moved on to Thunderbird.  This is also what is referred to as a bumwine, we thought it was a step up and the bottle was bigger. Also, it was a California wine.  We were done with New York wineries.

We got very good at bumming and sharing.  One evening we bummed enough money for about a gallon of Thunderbird.  We just had to give our financial benefactors a sip.
 
We were a bit over served that night.  After a while we were in no condition to drive.  Thank God none of us had a car.  We were in no condition to walk either.  We took turns carrying each other.  We had to walk two miles to get home.   We made it to Jim's house, since his home was the closest.  By this time, Andy was in a total stupor and he was thrashing around making our life difficult.
We brought Andy to the garage, tied him up so he wouldn't thrash around, hooked his coat, with him in it, onto a hook on the wall.
Jim then said, " Come on into the house and meet my uncle.  He's a priest."
"Ah...No..Thanks...Jim.  I will be on my way. Have a nice Thanksgiving."
I also had to get up and watch the vaunted Detroit Lions give the lowly Green Bay Packers a pummeling.
"Oh, come! My parents won't even notice that we had a little bit of wine. My uncle drinks wine all the time.  He won't notice either."
"Okay!"
It is a good thing I was not born a female. I gave in way too easily.  I guess I was a male wine slut at the time.

Jim and I staggered to the house and  stumbled up the stairs and into the kitchen.  Jim's dad was there to greet us.  He took one look at us and asked sternly, " Have you boys been drinking?" We both said, "No" in unison.
"Don't lie to me.  You boys have been drinking."
Finally, we confessed.  "We had a glass of wine at Andy's house."
"A glass?" Jim's dad queried loudly.  "It was a big glass." I added.  We confessed that we had a little more than a glass of wine.  We didn't really fool anyone.  We could barely stand or talk properly.  We told Jim's dad that we had hung Andy in the garage.

"What?...You hung Andy?....Why?....He was a good kid."
"Yeah, but we got sick of carrying him." I answered.
"He didn't even get last rites.  How could you? I will have Father Riley (the uncle) administer last rites."
Jim and I looked at each other. We were puzzled.  What is he talking about?
"Oh....No...Not like that." Jim offered. "We did it with nails and a garden hose."

At this point, Jim's dad is in shock.  He is about ready to have a stroke. "You crucified Andy?  You boys are very mentally sick.  You have ruined your lives."
His eyes were very moist.  He kept repeating, "sick...sick...sick."

Finally, we really had to tell the whole truth.  This was getting out of hand.
We told Frank (Jim's dad) that Andy was out in the garage being held up by a garden hose and a nail to keep him from falling over onto the cement in the garage.  He was too drunk to walk and we left him out in the garage because he would have given us away.  We actually thought nobody would notice that Jim and I could barely stand up straight or talk without a heavy slur.

Finally, Frank explained the situation to Father Riley, who had been in the other room listening to the whole escapade.  I met Father Riley, shook his hand. He gave Jim and I a little lecture about lying and we were remanded to our own custody to take care of Andy, who was still hanging in the garage.

We had to walk Andy to his home, which was another half mile down the road. We didn't really walk him, we carried him.  He was in a stupor.

We carried him to his front door.  We hoped that it was unlocked.  It was.  Nobody was up.  Everybody had gone to bed.  Thank God...we would not have to explain this to more people.  We used stealth to set him just inside the door, on the floor and quietly exited his residence.  Then we ran for about a hundred yards.

"Whew, poor guy. He's toast.  I suppose we will be hearing from his mom and dad tomorrow."

Strangely, Andy was the only one who did not get caught. When I got home my parents were waiting for me.  I gave them the "sip of wine at Andy's house" story.  I think they knew it was a lie, since I still was having trouble navigating.
Jim, Andy and I discussed it on Saturday.We considered this a legendary adventure of our teen years.
We decided we would meet at Scotty's, our hang out, in exactly 20 years.  The night before Thanksgiving.  Wednesday.

EPILOGUE:

The meeting never happened:  Reality got in the way.
Approximately four months after this event, Andy became a diabetic.  He didn't take good care of his disease.  As time went on, Andy lost his vision, his toes, his kidneys and at the age of 39....his life.  He was my best friend.

Jim became a lawyer.  A good one.  Ironically, Jim's daughter was born the day Andy died.  He could not be a pallbearer because of this.  I haven't seen Jim in twenty years.
However he did sign one of my legal documents.  Thanks, Jim!!!

The place where we were supposed to meet is now a pile of rubble. The only thing left of it are the memories.

The town I was raised in has not fared much better.  Ten years after our adventure, the main industry in our town shut down permanently.  The town is in a state of decline.
It was a great place to grow up.  It is heartbreaking to go back and see what has happened to it.

Life...for some of us...goes on.

The Wizardry of Oz

I'm off to see the wizard.

Recently the little French Lady and I have become more health conscious.  In keeping with this theme I adjusted my 401K to reflect my expected living age to 110 years old.   Now I must do something in the health department to facilitate my expectations. 

My wife adjusted her 401K to the age of 101 so we could die at approximately the same day.

We both decided that Doctor Oz seems to have a lot of ideas on how to stay healthy. We started saving his TV show on our DVR.  This seemed like a really great plan.  I read a couple of his  "YOU" books and they seemed quite confusing so I assumed he knew what he was talking about.  

He is often quoted in Reader's Digest, The New York Times, Mad Magazine and the Daily Worker, so we had a sense that he had some credibility.

After two months of Doctor Oz,  I must confess that I feel the same as I did before I started watching his program and taking his advice.  

I do have a very healthy refrigerator heavily stocked with Shiritake noodles, baked kelp, cauliflower smoothies, a 5 gallon of some very virginal olive oil, 14 avocados, 50 pounds of walnuts, and a Swanson Fried Chicken TV dinner.  

We haven't eaten at home in 5 weeks.  I cannot even look into the refrigerator without gagging.

On top of our dining room table is our food supplements.   We have so many supplements on our table that we have to eat standing up.  We have our pills  organized by morning, noon and night.  

We spend our first hour taking the morning pills.  We spend the next half hour trying to keep them down.  Those fish oil burps are wicked.  I am sure glad we got the burp-less ones.  Same routine at noon and night.

This morning I had an eppiffery which is very much like an epiphany only much less insightful.

This Oz thing is a little weird.  

Monday he says 6 cups of coffee in the morning is good for you. So Monday I drank six cups of coffee and walked around in a highly excited stupor which is a bit of an oxymoron but that is how I felt.

  

Tuesday he says coffee is really not that good for you.  So I threw all of our coffee away and again we both walked in a state of high agitation and low stupor, bumping into each other, and at the same time going through coffee withdrawal.  A tough day.

Wednesday he says coffee in moderation is good for you.  I don't have any coffee left in the house, and I am still going through coffee withdrawal.   I swore at my neighbors, threw rocks at their dogs,  put poop on their doorstep.(mine ...not the dogs!!)  I am having another tough day.

Thursday (Today)...

I am watching Doctor Oz show this morning. Constipated and cranky.  He has someone's gizzard on a table.  He is putting on some blue gloves on, he is squeezing the gizzard.  Something is oozing. Yuk!! I am glad I did not turn up the sound.

I just took my supplements for the day.  I followed his recommendations. It takes me about 20 minutes to take my pills.

My Omega 3,  Calcium, Quercetin, Cinnamon, garlic, Xalatan, Timalol, Lumigan, Simvastatin, hydrochlorothyazide, my memory medicine (I forgot what it's called) Tricor, Damnitol (an anti anger medication), Methimozale (Chantal just told me it is for Wilson's ears. TOO LATE! ).

I just took a blue pill,  I am not sure if it is Aleve or Viagra, I will find out soon.

Lint-begone (to prevent the accumulation of lint in my navel), Scrotumizer ( to keep that buffy shine on my scrotum: recommended by Doctor Oz!!...??) and Preparation H, some round pill to make me start pooping, a square pill to make me stop pooping. It had a letter E on it.  That may have been a scrabble tile.  

I am confused.

I think I am going to give up something.

I think it will be Doctor Oz.

My Personal Rogue's Gallery.

Friends, Family and other malcontents.

We all have them, don't we?
Oh, you know who I am talking about.  It might be Uncle Percy, who collects ear wax and makes religious statues out of it.  It could be the neighbor who borrowed your riding mower and sold it on ebay.  Maybe it is Uncle Wally who has a pet duck that he walks on a leash every day.
They are colorful characters in your personal history.  Some of them are fun, a few weirdos, an equal number of crooks and psychos.

I will start with Uncle Leonard, the low talker.
Uncle Lenny is a small guy.  I am a talking "small".  He makes Barney Fife look tall and beefy.  That may be his problem.  He overcompensates.  He can drink like a man that is 7 feet tall.  Lenny is 5' 1".   He drives a huge truck.
When he drinks he acts like he is 7 feet tall.  He gets belligerent.  He picks fights with big people. Fortunately everyone knows about Lenny, and they act accordingly.  Usually they just put their hand on Lenny's head and he swings wildly until he tires.
If the big guy grows weary of Lenny's swinging, he puts his thumb and index finger together and flick him in the chest, very much in the same style that someone would flick an errant booger from their fingers ... and Uncle Leonard would go flying.

Uncle Lenny had a way of exacting his revenge.  He was a low talker. He was also an accomplished mumbler.  You had to lean very close to him, bend down and say "What"? He could say things to people and they would look at each other and ask, "Did he just insult me?"....Nah!!!  This was when he was sober.  When had a few extra samplings from the brown bottles he talked incomprehensible gibberish.

I heard rumors that he was a faux Navaho code talker during the cold war while he was in the army.  His commanding officers would give him a six pack and then they would write up bogus messages for Lenny to transmit verbally.
Apparently there are sixteen nations still trying to decipher the code, including ours.
My Uncle Lenny.

Then there was my former friend, Quisling Von Heussen.  Even back in the late 50's he was strange.  He was Swiss.  He had relatives in Zurich.  He was always saying nice things about Hitler.  He would say things like Hitler was better looking than Churchill.
He said Hitler could run faster than Roosevelt and Eva Braun was better looking than Eleanor Roosevelt.  He also stated that Hitler could dance better than Joe Stalin.  It really aggravated me because I could not disprove his argument.
I did point out that Hitler did make some major social blunders.  Quis didn't really want to talk about that.  He preferred to say how well Hitler trimmed his mustache an how shiny his boots were.
I grew tired of Quis.  That last time I saw him he was handing out brochures for the Tea party.  He had shiny boots and a little Charlie Chaplin mustache.

Then there is my friend Miguel Heraldo.  He liked cars.  I was a very good friend.  He came to me and ask to borrow $1500 so he could get a car.   I had been burned by him before, but it was a small amount. I said I couldn't do it.  His wife said, "I'll make sure he pays it back if you co-sign for him".  I finally caved in and I cosigned.  He made two payments.  The bank started calling ME!  I went to his house and asked him about the payment.  He said he had paid it late, and not to worry about it.  I should have been suspicious when I saw the U-haul truck in the driveway and the boxes in the living room.
He moved to Georgia the next day.  I was left to pay his bill. I learned a lesson.

A few years passed and he found my email address somehow and he wanted to be my buddy.  I never answered his email.  He went to a mutual friend and asked, "What's the matter with Jonathan Hemlock?  I email him and he never answers".
The mutual friend and I had a conversation and I said I would answer Miguel.  I did. I questioned his honesty and integrity.  He answered that nothing like that ever happened.  I was lying, where is my proof?  He remembers nothing of that. He verbally attacked me to my friends.  He said I was a liar.  I wasn't really surprised.  5 years go by.....I moved on.
Now, He wants to be my Facebook friend. Yikes!!!
What a World. This is the Casey Anthony Era.

Then we have my Cousin Lonnie Hemlock, the collector.
Lonnie is a bright guy.  He is good at fixing things.
A few years ago you could drive your own garbage to the landfill and drop it off.
Lonnie's problem with the landfill was that he would bring home more than he would drop off.  He was actually making more space in the landfill for people like me. While most people, referred to it as "the dump",  Lonnie called it "the Mall".

I went to his house one day to do some type of family business.  I climbed over various car parts, bike parts, old air conditioners, carcasses of various vermin and other sundry products and made my way to the front door from the porch.  I knocked on the door.  The door tilted at an angle and fell into the kitchen.
Cousin Lonnie was in the kitchen.  I think it was the kitchen.  Hard to tell.  I couldn't see a sink.  I did see a refrigerator. Three actually.
"Come in! Come in.  Hmmm! I'll have to fix that one of these days. How about a cup of coffee?"
I looked around the room.
"Thanks anyway, Lonnie, I have to be somewhere else in 10 minutes." (Anywhere else! please!!) "I'll just sit on this beanbag chair since all your other chairs have stuff on them."(Beanbag chair in the kitchen?)
"Oh..that isn't a beanbag chair, that's a bag of garbage."
"Oh?" I was impressed.  He actually had some garbage in bags. I got out of there as quick as possible.
Sadly, a couple  of years later the town burned the house to the ground.  Strangely, it is the second one of his houses they had to burn to the ground.  I am sure many little critters died a fiery death.  I believe they invited the national guard and a reserve unit to shoot the rats as they were fleeing the burning building.

Moving on....

I met my friend Agatha on the beach a few weeks ago.  She just won't give up. She had to vent or spew her opinions once again.
She is always talking about "the blacks". Obama, the black, not Obama the president.  The blacks are taking over the country.  They are ruining it. They have insufficient brain matter to run this country. We are doomed.
She listens to such intellectual heavyweights as Rush Limbaugh, Homer Simpson and Glen Beck.
These are her happiest moment in her life. She is in her element when she is criticizing a democrat, a black, a foreigner (Kenyan?).... Obama.. JACKPOT!!!.. bells and whistles, patriotic music.  Flying spittle and excitement.  I think she just had a political orgasm.
Is that possible?

Finally...one day I just looked at her kind of funny and she said, "What?"
"Your one of us, aren't you?"
Agatha was dumbstruck. "Wha..What too hell are you talking about?
"You're...a black, aren't you?...one of us."
"You're not black, fool!! You're as white as me."
"I mentioned before that I am Obama's cousin. We are black Irish. Uh..huh..look at your skin. Is that the skin of a white person?"
Agatha sits in the sun every day.  She has a deep tan.  Is that tan all from the sun?

"Don't deny it.  I will not ax you to dance or dunk a basket or spell incarcerated.  You are a black.  Just like me."
I gestured for her to give me a high five.  She ignored it.
"You're crazy!!!" she snorted as she ran off the beach.
I turned to the little French lady and said, "I think we have resolved this issue."
We did the high five.

I have a lot more weird friends.  They are interesting people. But I don't want you to think all my friends are weird, just most of them.

I made it. I survived.

A Tale of Survival

This is a heroic and epic tale of overcoming daunting circumstances and unbelievable danger.

No, it wasn't the holocaust, WWII, the McCarthy era,  hurricane Katrina, September 11th, 2001, the Obama presidency, the Bush presidency.  

None of those.

It was called "growing up in the 50's".  A time fraught with many dangers that people today can't even imagine.  I was reading an article today about the  dangers of growing up in the 50's.  It is nothing short of a miracle that there are any of us left that can reveal what really happened in that era.

Let us start with my birth.  I was not born in a hospital.  I was born in a maternity home in my hometown.  I am not even sure there was a doctor present.  I didn't ask and I didn't really care.  

I weighed 4 pounds 7 ounces which is on the smallish side.  A circumstance of birth that I never overcame in my adulthood.  I was a giant compared to my wife, the little French lady.  She weighed 2 pounds 8 ounces when she was born.   Between the two of us we weighed almost as much as a human being. Almost seven pounds.

We survived the circumstances and the weight of our birth.  One thing that may have affected my weight was the fact that my parents were smokers.  They also didn't mind tipping a few Pabst Blue Ribbons on occasion.  

When I came home from the maternity place I was put in a crib that was painted with lead paint.

Nobody died from it.  Nobody became hyper or mentally challenged because of it.  

Yes, we had some "not too clever" kids in our class, but I assure you, it was inherited.

We were fed terrible food.  Dangerous foods.  Things like peanut butter, bacon and eggs and numerous danger fraught dairy products like milk, cheese, and butter.  Not one kid in my 1st grade class died of a heart attack or an allergic reaction.

I don't remember a child in our class who was autistic.  In fact I can say that about the whole school and the whole town.  NOT ONE CHILD!!! No one was autistic. Hmmm!!?

The most nerve wracking disease for my era was polio.  I knew a few people who got polio.  This was kind of scary.

Now comes the horrific stuff.  

You are familiar with child proof caps. Yeah, the ones that adults can't open. We didn't have any child?proof caps for medicine.  We just had to turn clockwise and the cap came off.  We could chugalug as many aspirins as we felt like.  Oddly, I don't remember any kids ever doing that.

We rode bicycles, played baseball without helmets.  The cars we sat in did not have seat belts, we rode in the back of trucks standing up.  None of my friends had dented heads.  In fact no one I know had a dented heads or twisted limbs. 

Wait a minute!!!! Our cars didn't have airbags either. WOW!!!!

I drank water out of a brook, out of a garden hose, from a container 4 other people had  used before me.  I should have died of amoebic dysentery or typhoid fever at an early age.

We ate huge quantities of cupcakes, refined sugar, kool aid, cake, cookies, potato chips, Pepsi, Coke, Fudge bars and nobody was fat. WHY????

Well, I was really too busy to analyze that one.  I was outdoors from about 8 AM till about 4 PM.  My mother had no idea where I was.  She did not call 911 and report me as missing. No search parties were organized.  She knew I was probably at my friend's house mooching a meal at lunch time between our baseball games.  We didn't have play dates. We had fist fights and wrestling.  We solved our own issues with reason and brutality, whichever worked best for the situation.

If I wasn't home by 4PM for supper...too bad for me.  My mother didn't operate a restaurant or cafeteria.  Either you went without or possibly she would keep it warm in the oven if she was having a really good day.

Then I would go out and play for a couple more hours, especially if I had school that day.

I would not spend a whole lot of time watching television since we didn't have one.  We knew who had televisions.  Their house would be completely dark except for the silver glow of the round television screen as seen by a 10 year old boy who happened to be walking.   Occasionally we would knock on people's door and ask we if we could watch television.  They would let us watch one program and tell us we would have to go after the program was over.  We were very grateful.

It was many years later that I realized it did not always snow during the "Buffalo Bob Show".

I thought it was always bad weather, not bad reception.

This part is going to shock a lot of people.

Our telephones were hooked to a wall.  They weighed about 11 pounds, you could throw them against a wall and they would still work.  They had a  rotary wheel on the front and the wheel had holes in it.  In each hole was a number and three letters. You would put your fingers in the whole and move the wheel in a certain direction until you hit a finger stop, then you would release your finger from the hole and it would return to its original position.  This was referred to as "dialing the phone."  

If you were a little trouble maker like me, you would just dial some numbers and get to talk to people in exotic places like, Yellow Knife in the Yukon, Capetown, South Africa and Belfast in Northern Ireland.

Before the dial phone it was very similar to what you see on "The Andy Griffith Show."

"Sarah, connect me to Emmett's garage."  You just told the operator who you wanted or you gave her a number like 842R or 93J1.

If you had a speech impediment this could become a problem.  Something like "twee, twee, teven..aw" (337R)

Operator: "Huh?"

Phone user: "Opowaito, Ju giz me da wong numba!!!"

Operator: "Huh?"

Then there was the issue with "party lines". This was a really nifty thing if you were a kid. 

A party line was a pretty weird concept.  Your family and someone else's family had the same phone line.  If the phone rang once it was for you.  If it rang twice it is for your neighbor down the road.

The nifty thing was you could listen to your neighbors gossiping if you picked up the telephone from its cradle really gently.  You could listen for a while.  It was really bad form to shout out stuff like, "THAT'S A LIE, YOU PIECE OF CRAP"  or "GET OFF THE PHONE. YOU HAVE BEEN GOSSIPING LONG ENOUGH."  I do apologize for doing it, but I was young.

Another weird thing about the phone system was that there was no call waiting or answering machine or voice mail.  If you called someone and they weren't at home, too bad for you.

School was a place you had to have survival skills.  The teachers had weapons and they were not afraid to use them. Most teachers had big wooden paddles.  They would use them on boys and girls alike.  Mostly boys.  I saw one guy beg for mercy because he had a boil on his ass.  The teacher didn't believe him. He was not spared. I know of some legendary matches among teachers and students in high school.  I only saw one.  The teacher won.  I am talking about physical confrontation.  I think our teachers had to go through some type of boot camp before teaching at our school.

Strangely there were no lawsuits.  The only time there was mention of a lawsuit was in 1951 when a bus was taking a summer outing to a place I went swimming every day. This day I decided not to go.  The bus hit some gravel on the side of the road. The driver lost control and the bus rolled down an embankment and ended upside down.  There were 54 people on the bus.  Only a couple were seriously injured.  Another miracle, really!!!

I survived all this and more.  Did I mention the fallout shelters?  The atomic fire drills?

Ummm!....Please don't tell anyone but......It was a wonderful time to grow up.