Somebody's got some splainin' to do!

Me!!! Sorting it out.

Things are getting a little fuzzy in my head and it is not my hair.  I am trying to make sense of what is going on in the world. My world. Making sense of nonsense.

For starters, so you know who these people are?

Who would you trust in these pictures?
The people on the top or the people on the bottom?

The people on the top are the infamous hippy Billy Bob Clinton and his main squeeze, Hilly Rod Clinton.

Probably basking in the after glow of some naughty thing they did.

The very family oriented couple below are obviously made of a much finer thread than the hippies above.
The man is a musician. His wife with the huge dress is a judge.
His name is John Michael.  The woman is Sharon Rachel... Levy.
They call him John Michael, Ozzie ....Ozzie Osbourne.
He is the lead musician in "Black Sabbath".  His favorite food is frog legs.  Or frog heads.
Sharon is a Judge on "America's got talent".

The next couple have a common bond.  They both have had a family member killed and now they are trying to finance a search for the killer or killers.  They would be grateful for any contributions to aid in their search.

Please make all checks payable to:The Golf Club and Night Club Fund. Make that: Jonathan Hemlock on this site.

I will now move on to new business and observations.

I will call them keen observations by a Squirrelly senior citizen. 

About nature.  

Robin's cannot fly.  They are very much like a turkey.  Turkeys just walk around bobbing their beady little heads like a skilled boxer and end up on a table  at Thanksgiving.  Why they are not extinct is beyond my understanding.

The Robin can get around ok just don't ask  them to fly too much.  I have seen squirrels in my backyard fly more than a Robin and they are usually much higher up in a tree than a Robin. You will usually see a Robin running around on the front lawn, huffing and puffing and jumping to avoid the cat that is chasing him. huff…puff…jump…huff…puff….jump.

Another myth: They do not fly south. They hardly fly anywhere.  They hitchhike on the back of busses, 18 wheelers, anything that is heading south.

Dumb as a dodo or mourning dove.

We have some Mourning Doves in our backyard.  They are not very clever.  They spend most of the day running into my windows and the side of the house.  They have big bodies and very small heads.  Obviously their brains do not take up too much space in their heads.  I believe the Mourning Dove will probably evolve into the first headless bird.

Another myth: Why are they mourning?  Usually because one of their colleagues just did something dumb and now is deceased, not because of the sound they make.

Old hat:

Old pictures:In the early 1900's men always wore hats.  They wore them properly.

Apparently it became a lost art.  Nowadays, people do not know how to wear hats. They have them on sideways , backwards, oversized, undersized, everything but right.

Additional information:Men often wore hats and ties just about all the time. Usually a wool suit, a tie, vest, white shirt,  wingtip shoes, argyle socks, Wildroot cream oil in their hair, and a dab of bay rum on their cheeks.  

The only exception to this custom is when  you had diarrhea. Then it would be acceptable to wear only a hat and tie.

Seniors: 

Many seniors are at the initial part of their life, like AARP, RIP, DOA,  SSI.

Bad Candy: 

I returned some  M&M's to the company that makes them.  They had mixed in some E's and W's.  They sent me a free bag.

Signs of aging disgracefully:

• My mind is making contracts my body can't keep.
• My little black book contains names ending only in M.D.
• My knees buckle but my belt won't.
• My back goes out more than I do.
• I sink my teeth into a steak and they stay there.
• I know all the answers but nobody is asking the questions.

But there is some good news, people.

• Kidnappers are not really interested in me.
• No one expects me to run into a burning building.
• People no longer view me as a hypochondriac.
• I constantly talk about the price of gasoline in 1962.
• I enjoy hearing about other people's surgery.
• I had a party and the neighbors didn't even realize it.
• Now when I talk about good grass, I am referring to my lawn.

I can remember 1957 like it was yesterday.  

Hmm!.....Why can't I remember yesterday?

And finally.... my neighbor, Elmo, who is single, responded to this ad  on the internet:

SINGLE BLACK FEMALE seeks male companionship, ethnicity unimportant. I'm a very good-looking girl who LOVES to play. I love long walks in the woods, riding in your pickup truck, hunting, camping and fishing trips, cozy winter nights lying by the fire. Candlelight dinners will have me eating out of your hand. Rub me the right way and watch me respond. I'll be at the front door when you get home from work, wearing only what nature gave me. Kiss me and I'm yours. Call (843) 8xx-xxxx and ask for Daisy.

Who says you can't find someone to love on the internet. 

In fact, that is how I met "The little French lady."

Elmo has found the love of his life. Daisy!!  
She is the sweetest black lab you would ever want to meet.

swimming with Sharks

good size jellyfish.  kinda flattened out.

Our Neighbor Wendy caught this good size sting ray.  Wendy is holding the fish pole.

pretty girl, ugly porcupine puffer fish

Swimming in Myrtle Beach.

Why would anyone swim in the ocean?

Oh! now I remember.

or not!!!

Aggravating Agatha

"Run, Agatha, Run!

"THE PROBLEM:"

I have this talkative neighbor, Agatha, who seems to be the world foremost authority. You name the subject, she has the truth....not an opinion, The TRUTH!!!
Oh, there is one exception.  She does not own a computer.  She refuses to own one.  Google is not in her vocabulary.  The only windows operating system she is aware of is made by Anderson. Apple Macintosh is only a tasty fruit to her.  To Agatha, IBM means impending bowel movement.

If I was forced to give her a political affiliation, I would label her somewhat to the right of Rush Limbaugh and Glen Beck.
She yearns for days of the past. The twentieth century?....No!  Perhaps somewhere between the eleventh and nineteenth century would suit her fine. That is our Agatha.

We used to see her on the beach everyday.  We would try to engage her in normal conversation.  She will talk like a normal person for a while.  At some point in our dialogue her eyes would start twitching, her lips would start trembling, her pupils begin dilating then glaze over and perhaps roll into the back of her head. She groaned, shook her head.
My wife, (the little French Lady) and I were wondering if she as going to faint or she was having some kind of mystical sexual experience.  We were hoping for the latter.

Then she looked at us with total clarity and said, "Did you watch Rush Limbaugh today? He says congress should impeach Obama.  I think he is right.  Glen Beck thinks so too.
Everything that has happen since 1988 is Obama fault.  Our country is being run by a black foreigner.  He is letting "the blacks" take over the country.  The blacks...blah..blah. blah..blah Obama blah blah blah blah "the blacks"....blah..blah..blah?"
Spittle and drool roll down her face.

"Agatha, I have to go take a dump now, if you will excuse me." We walk way very fast.

"Whew,  I thought we would never get away.  Did you see that? She went into an altered state of consciousness. It was like she was transported to Limbaughland." the little french lady mused.
"Maybe she is one of those Tea peer's." the wife said thoughtfully. "One of those folks who drink Tea and pees a lot and complains about it?" I queried.
"Yeah...those."

After that we tried to avoid her.  If we saw her wandering on the beach and she was heading towards us, I would ask my wife, "How far can you swim underwater?" The usual answer was, "not far enough."
We had a problem. We needed a solution.

THE SOLUTION: Sometimes the solution just in front of you don't realize it immediately.
I was watching the news recently and President Obama was visiting Ireland.  It seems that his mother had Irish ancestry.  Interesting information.  I could be related to him since I am also since 3 out of 4 of my grandparents were Irish.  It is a small country.

Hmmm...wait a minute.  
I could tell Agatha that he is related to me.  I will have to make a history, a cover, just like a CIA agent....
I am his cousin..twice removed, whatever that means.  This could work.  Let's see what going to happen.

THE EXECUTION:  
I prepare my documentation (a photoshopped picture of Obama and me talking in the oval office) and  commence to strolling and trolling the beach.  I know it is a matter of time. This is like fishing.
On the third day of trolling strolling the beach Agatha spots us. She waves at us and we casually feign disinterest.  I flick my wrist casually towards her.  She is waving. I look at the little French lady and she shrugs and we keep walking away from her.

Now Ag is waving frantically with both hands and running towards us.  We are walking away from her but not very fast.  She finally catches up with us.
She is winded, but she runs pretty well for a 79 year old person with a heart condition.

"Oh...Hi Agatha.  When did you start jogging?  You have to be careful at your age. but I think it is wonderful that you are concerned about your health and have started jogging."
"I didn't think it was very healthy for you to fall asleep on the beach like you did yesterday."
"Carry on, don't let us stop you."

"Wait!!!...(gasp...huff) I not jogging.  I am trying (heavy breathing) to catch up with you and I wasn't sleeping on the beach yesterday.  I fainted while trying to catch up to you."

"Oh!...? So what's up?"
Agatha's lips started quivering, her right eye started twitching, the eyes..they dilated, her face became flush. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, apparently retrieving some bit of arcane Rush Limbaugh data from her memory bank.  She gasped, moaned, shook her head, then smiled.

"Did you hear what Obama did?"
She broke into a giggle now.
"Cousin Barry? what has he done now?" was my snappy rejoinder.

"Barry? who's Barry? I'm talking about Obama."
"Barry O'Bama.  That's what family calls him." I stated casually.
"No, No! I am talking about Barack Obama, that bad black president."
"Yeah, we're talking about the same guy.  My cousin Barry O'Bama, the President. The white Republicans are giving him a hard time. That guy."
"Some of you "whites" don't seem to like him."

I pause for effect.  It is time to set the hook.

"power to people. now let's have a stout and a potato."

"He's Irish, You know."

Now, I can see Agatha's mind spinning.
"He's black..."
"...Yeahhhh!...What's your point? Haven't you heard of Black Irish? Google it.
Oh, I'm sorry you can't, can you?"

I feigned pent up anger.
"Are you one of those colonialist who exploited our homeland? You white people!!! (said with righteous indignation)
"You whites are always doing that kinda crap. You made life hell for us black Irish during the potato famine, Agatha, Do you ever aks yourself if this is right?"
"You do?....You lie!!!!"

Agatha is slowly backing up.  she is nervous. I am jabbering incoherently. Spittle is flying from my lips. I am extolling the virtues of being Irish and black and how this knowledge has improved my basketball dribbling skills and the drinking of the beer afterwards.  she now is running.
"She's pretty fast for a 79 year old white woman with a folding chair and a backpack on her back."
I think I had her at "aks". The little french lady nodded. "Oui!"

"Have a lovely jog, Agatha!!!!"