Thursday, October 8, 2015


I'm ready to change my diet.  This idea came about after we applied for a home equity loan at our local bank. 

It didn't take us long to realize we were up  against a slow moving  uncaring apparatus that think of us as 15-9-343H-blah blah dash blah blah blah.
Dealing with a bank sometimes starts to get very overwhelming and frustrating.

I asked a friend how to deal with this situation.

His advice was:  "Think of this seemingly overwhelming situation as the proverbial 'how do you eat an elephant?' One bite at a time."
I took his advice.  I bought an elephant.

How long can a person eat elephant steaks, elephant stew, elephant dumplings, elephant sausage, belephant testicles, sautéed elephant liver, pickled elephant tongue, elephant creole, elephant tacos, elephant foo hung, elephant teriyaki, Chicago style elephant pizza, elephant tripe, Irish style elephant w/baked potato, barbecued elephant, baked elephant, boiled elephant, and elephant chili?

I'm done.
Not with the elephant, just with eating it.
The stinking carcass lies rotting on my front lawn.
The neighbors are complaining.  They are getting a little cranky.
The HOA president asks me when I will be moving the wooly mammoth off our lawn.
I told him that it would be soon. Maybe. This approach seemed to work for the bank.
He tried to nail me down to a specific date.
" want a closing date? That will be soon after our bank gives us the money for elephant carcass cleanup and for our new condo."
Oddly the neighbors started calling our bank and tried to help us expedite the removal of the dead beast.
We have nice neighbors.
 But sometimes you have to put up a stink to get some attention.

Saturday, August 22, 2015

creative solutions for geezers

Modern Times

Everybody wants to be creative. Even coots, geezers, curmudgeons and cranky senior citizens. I must fit into one of those categories. perhaps all of them.

We must not look at this as an affliction where you are to be shunned. It should be looked at as an opportunity to exact revenge on these obtuse young whippersnappers with their iPhones, snotty clerks and other types of customer service representatives and others who are clueless about such things as manners.

Oh.....manners? That was a arcane ritual that ceased towards the end of the twentieth century. Perhaps someone could text you on it.
There are books on the subject. No, No!! Don't look in the fiction section. It really existed and some remote corners of the globe it still does. Anthropologist and Sociologist are studying it. Some wizened old scholars actually remember it. Some people, mostly women, sit at their knee of these learned but strange academics and giggle at the folly of the past while texting somebody with their smart phone.

Did you know that people in the past were creative?  They actually thought up a lot of these things you are using today.  It would sure would have been nifty if Alexander Graham Bell could have googled "Telephone". This makes me realize that if Isaac Newton had sat under a coconut tree instead of an apple tree he would have died without discovering gravity and we would all be floating around. (Hey…I never said I was very smart!)

I actually had a young lady actually smile at me while she was texting. She was my waitress (oops…waitstaff) at the local seafood restaurant.

I see a future world with humanoid type creatures walking around with their heads down bumping into other humanoid doing the same. I predict male humanoids will take pictures of sperm, cut and paste to a female's cellphone and she will attempt to fertilize a picture of her egg.  Your next child could be printed out on a 3D printer.
Your child's name could be Hewlett, Canon, Epson or Brother, which could be a tad awkward if you are a girl.

This is your future.

To all Americans

To all Americans

Seriously…Donald Trump?  This is a joke.  right?  
Ha ha…funny.  a real side splitter. You Americans. funny.

Is the rest of the world in on the joke?  Putin just soiled himself.

A joke……right?


Monday, July 20, 2015

Donald Trump, landscape expert or John McCain, malingering non-hero.

How Dare You?

It has come to my attention that a few Americans are making sport of Donald Trump's military career.  I will have you know that Donald had the coveted and very important landscaper's exemption.  His draft board deemed it necessary for him to serve as a civilian in Cincinnati, Ohio while John McCain was sitting around doing nothing in the tropics.

According to Wikipedia: The Swifton Village project:The Trumps became involved in the project and with a $500,000 investment, turned the 1,200-unit complex with a 66 percent vacancy rate to 100 percent occupancy within two years. In 1972, the Trump Organization sold Swifton Village for $6.75 million. Donald's involvement with the project was to perform some landscaping and menial labour.

However, Donald assured me that the landscaping was probably the best in North America with golf course quality grass with soil imported from the Amazon delta of Brazil. Orchids, magnolias, and roses were imported from California using seeds donated by Luther Burbank.

We will go to  Swifton Village  today and it will be sweet vindication for Donald.
Ummm, on second thought…….

Meanwhile, John McCain was in the Tropics cavorting with the natives and staying at one of the Hiltons at government's expense.

McCain's career while Thw Donald landscaping.
McCain's capture and subsequent imprisonment began on October 26, 1967. He was flying his 23rd bombing mission over North Vietnam when his A-4E Skyhawk was shot down by a missile over Hanoi.  McCain fractured both arms and a leg ejecting from the aircraft and nearly drowned when he parachuted into Trúc Bạch Lake. Some North Vietnamese pulled him ashore, then others crushed his shoulder with a rifle butt and bayoneted him. McCain was then transported to Hanoi's main Hỏa Lò Prison, nicknamed the "Hanoi Hilton" (told you).
Although McCain was badly wounded, his captors refused to treat his injuries, beating and interrogating him to get information; he was given medical care only when the North Vietnamese discovered that his father was a top admiral. His status as a prisoner of war (POW) made the front pages of major newspapers.
McCain spent six weeks in the hospital while receiving marginal care.  By then having lost 50 pounds (23 kg), in a chest cast, and with his gray hair turned white as snow,  McCain was sent to a different camp on the outskirts of Hanoi in December 1967, into a cell with two other Americans who did not expect him to live a week. In March 1968, McCain was put into solitary confinement, where he would remain for two years. 
In the picture below he can be seen swimming with the locals.
Hey guys, take it easy.  Are you trying to drown me? Uh, ya, you just bombed my house.
In mid-1968, John S. McCain Jr. was named commander of all U.S. forces in the Vietnam theater, and the North Vietnamese offered McCain early release because they wanted to appear merciful for propaganda purpose  and also to show other POWs that elite prisoners were willing to be treated preferentially.  McCain turned down the offer; he would only accept repatriation if every man taken in before him was released as well. Such early release was prohibited by the POW's interpretation of the military Code of Conduct: To prevent the enemy from using prisoners for propaganda, officers were to agree to be released in the order in which they were captured.
In August 1968, a program of severe torture began on McCain.  He was subjected to rope bindings and repeated beatings every two hours, at the same time as he was suffering from dysentery. Further injuries led to the beginning of a suicide attempt, stopped by guards.  Eventually, McCain made an anti-American propaganda "confession". He has always felt that his statement was dishonorable, but as he later wrote, "I had learned what we all learned over there: Every man has his breaking point. I had reached mine." Many American POWs were tortured and maltreated in order to extract "confessions" and propaganda statements; virtually all of them eventually yielded something to their captors. McCain subsequently received two to three beatings weekly because of his continued refusal to sign additional statements.
McCain refused to meet with various anti-war groups seeking peace in Hanoi, wanting to give neither them nor the North Vietnamese a propaganda victory.  From late 1969 onward, treatment of McCain and many of the other POWs became more tolerable, while McCain continued actively to resist the camp authorities. McCain and other prisoners cheered the U.S. "Christmas Bombing" campaign" of December 1972, viewing it as a forceful measure to push North Vietnam to terms.
Altogether, McCain was a prisoner of war in North Vietnam for five and a half years. He was released on March 14, 1973.  His wartime injuries left him permanently incapable of raising his arms above his head.
So quit your whining, McCain (or as they said at your Hilton home. "The beatings will continue until morale improves.").

Donald, I just love your idea of building a fence across the mexican border.  
You said let the Mexican build it. That will work since much of the manual labor is done by Spanish people in my neighborhood.  They are probably from Mexico, working for minimum wage, without  health care or any other kind of benefits.
You can supervise this project since you have experience in landscaping.  There will be landscaping involved and I have noticed that my landscaper speaks Spanish.

So…in conclusion. What is more important? Beautifying Cincinnati or spending time in a tropical paradise swimming and cavorting with the natives?  Only Cincinnati knows for sure.
I do believe I have straighten out this matter.  
It is what it is.  
Does anyone know what that means?

Monday, June 15, 2015

A lifetime warranty

And other life myths

Billy was the only one that liked to drink sewer water.
Sometimes you realize late in life that the adage "if it seems too good to be true, it usually is."
I take another sip of my "Billy Beer",  I burp…or was that a little vomit?…and say to myself, "So true, so true."

Yes, I traded my classic 1952 bullet nose Studebaker for a lifetime supply of Billy Beer to the Reingold beer distributor in my area. The car was in a parade last week.  It was for sale for $24,000.
The distributor did not lie even though I have 15 bottles left out of a case of 24, I consider it a lifetime supply.
I have tried to get my friends to drink some.  I have lost friends.   I put a few bottles on skid row for the derelicts to sip upon.  I found it untouched on my porch the next day.  I can't even bring it back to the beer dealer.  Reingold went out of business many years ago (1976), the same year I purchased the Betamax video taping system for $1800.  This can't miss.  It's a Sony product.  Sony!!!!  I also received a lifetime supply movie card which gave me access to movies for $2 instead of $2.99. The card cost me $99 (good for a lifetime).  I used it once.  The store went out of business in 93 days.   My 99 cents savings cost me $99.

When things like this happen you develop a thick skin.  Sadly, my skin became so thick I had to see a dermatologist.
The doctor took one look at my skin and said, "Yikes…this is bad."
"I know." I sighed.
"8 track car stereo?" He queried.
"No, Betamax with lifetime movie club guarantee." I whispered shamefully.
"Ouch! Why did you wait so long?"
"There's more." A tear trickled down my cheek.
"More?  You're joking! This is as bad as it gets…already.  Don't tell me there is more."
I bowed my head and muttered, "I traded my 1952 Studebaker classic for a case of Billy Beer."
The doctor fell to his knees and started laughing or crying hysterically and he kept muttering, "OH MY GOD" numerous times.
Finally I asked if he was laughing or crying.  He said, "I Don't know.  I owned that car last year and I sold it for $12,000.  It was a wonderful car but the ashtray was full".
"Then you're probably crying because he is selling it  for $24,000."
"$24,000?…$24,000 american dollars? "  I watched as his skin became blotchy, big red welts began to appear.  He started scratching his arms, then his legs.  I could see he was fighting the urge to scratch his crotch.  His face began to twitch and he had a fit of cough.

Perhaps I should call a nurse.  What a turn of events.
"Nurse, please bring me 2 Benadryl, some Cortisone lotion, and Viagra; the doctor is having a hives stress reaction." I hollered into the intercom on his desk.
"Huh?…I get the cortisone, and Benadyrl.  What's with the Viagra?"
"Oh! That's for me. This is the best I felt since the brewery closed down in 1976."


My thick skin started to thin out a bit. I realized that thick skin in my case was used figuratively and not literally.  Sadly for my Dermatologist this was not the case.  The blotches never left him and he has to wear gloves all the time.  This has affected his business greatly but on the up side he has stopped smoking.

Ah, who knows.  Maybe Betamax will make a comeback.  Until then I believe I will sit here and sip on my Billy Beer.  Ewwwww!!!!

Thursday, May 7, 2015

My little paradise

I am basking in the late afternoon sun on the patio. The little French lady sits in her fake rattan swing playing qwirkle. The shadows grow long. A cardinal sings happily nearby.
We love our little paradise. We have tried to make our patio a fake rattan paradise. It works for us. The squirrels don't find the taste of fake rattan appetizing.  They tried to eat our fake rattan glider.  I am guessing it was not very tasty.  We still have most of it.  They seem to like the mid range fake rattan as oppose to the dark, light or white rattan?

I hate to think of our patio furniture as squirrel food, but it is what it is. I find myself going to outdoor furniture stores and tasting the furniture and asking myself "is this a taste a squirrel would like?"
A good rule of thumb is: if the tree has nuts the squirrel will eat the wood from that tree.
Ah... Nature!  A lizard just slithered by for the twentieth time today. I think it is a gecko.
He isn't eating the furniture or selling car insurance.  He's become a regular visitor since we went to Petsmart and got a fifty pound bag of lizard chow.

Yesterday afternoon a pair of Carolina Wrens started building a nest on our patio.  They are cute and bold little birds.They were flying by us every five minutes with something in their mouth.
Today they seem to have lost interest. Me too. They are building their nest on my gloves, which are inside a box of leaf bags.  Now there is bird poop all over the place.

Last week our cat started making a fuss near the sliding glass door to the patio.  We thought she probably saw a palmetto bug. (More on them later)  I turned on the patio light and a full grown possum was staring at me.

 Oh, he was a handsome fellow with his pointy snout, showing a fine set of teeth and a malevolent look in his beady little eyes.  I slid the door shut, turned off the light and sent a memo to myself. No sleeping on the patio.
 It is a lovely patio.  I wish I were brave enough to go there at night.
Our cat, Madison, won't look at the patio after dark.

Yes, nature is a wonderful thing.
I look above me and I see a red bellied woodpecker pecking at our tree. They are so beautiful and majestic!
Hmmm...I thought they only pecked at dead trees. That's my tree. He's killing it.
"Hey, get away from my tree you deranged coot."
I will throw a couple of rocks to scare him off.
Oops! I hope they are not an endangered species. I guess life has its own pecking
Now back to the palmetto bugs.  They are actually roaches and they are big enough to put a saddle up and ride. I exaggerate but they are big.  The good thing is they like it outside. Inside, not so much.
If they make it inside they usually belly up pretty fast.  We haven't had too many roach funerals in our house. We insist on some type of service. I insist on a Hindu funeral pyre and burial at sea.  My wife wants the Christian ceremony where the woman screams and insist that it be flushed down the toilet and I am usually the only pallbearer.  I am not sure why we go through all this trouble.  I am pretty sure they are atheist or possibly baptist.
Ouch!  I think a squirrel just threw something at me
Uh..huh, yes. It is the same rock I threw at the woodpecker.
We have tough squirrels in this neighborhood.  I have tried to electrocute them, drown them, spiked some food with capsaicin, ambien, mentos and Pepsi, mentos and vinegar, baking soda and Pepsi, espresso and Viagra (don't use this combo.  It's expensive and the squirrels are active all night.)
I have put a lifelike  replica of a hawk on my patio in hopes that it would scare the squirrels away.
They ate it.
A neighbor had trapped three squirrels and he drove them to a park in Charlotte, North Carolina and released them and drove home.  He stopped at Wendy's on the way home to have a celebratory meal. Two days later,  three squirrels were looking in his bedroom window at 7 am in the morning.  Chattering and taunting. Chattering and taunting.  Showing their butts and eating French fries.
He swears this is true.

 Hmmm! The cardinal is still singing away in my little paradise.  He's been doing that for an hour.
He must be happy too.

I will just sit here and take in the beauty of the day while I finish off my beer.
Mmmmm...good beer! What's that? A leaf in my beer? No! Leaves don't have legs. That is an inebriated and surly caterpillar doing the backstroke.  I wonder how long he has been floating in my beer? I can't use the five second rule.  I don't know how long he has been there.  My options are limited. I can take the caterpillar out of my beer and reduce the options.
I will leave it out and let the squirrels finish it. Solved.
The cardinal is still chirping away. Don't they ever shut up. He must be happy. Maybe I will throw another rock and he will fly away.
Hmmm... Thirty other birds flew away but the cardinal still sings.
"Shut up." Still singing.
Much louder: "Shut up you yellow bellied, Sap sucking,worm eating coot."
No reaction.
Now screaming: "silence, you worthless piece of feathered crap ball.  Who to hell do you think you are? Kanye west? shut to xxxx up."
Now there is a reaction.
My neighbor is calling 911.  I told him not to worry,  I can handle this bird.  He said it wasn't for the bird. It was for me.

Hmmm, another misunderstanding, I will have to straighten out in the PD drunk tank or at the mental health unit.

It is what it is.  Does anyone know what to hell that means?

Sunday, April 5, 2015

I have met the enemy and he is me!!

A reality check


In the year 2008 I was a heavy user of Dunkin Donuts and their tasty coffee.  A regular customer.  
The fact that they gave a senior citizen discount for people over 55 was a nice bonus and since I was in my mid 60's I was eligible.

One day I walked in and asked for my usual  coffee with a maple glazed and a Boston Creme with my senior citizen discount.

Apparently the Donutarista was in a bad mood.  She proofed me.  She had me take out my driver's license and show her that I was 66 years old.  I guessed  I must have looked young enough to be in my early 40's…or she was being a total a**hole. 
I prefer to believe that I had  the appearance of a much younger man, although I have never been into any Dunkin Donut since that day.

Consequently I have lived my life like the nearly 50 year old man that Dunkin Donut has assumed me to be.
They must really believe that.  I sent a picture of myself to DD Corporate and demanded an apology.
I never heard from them.

I am guessing that they reviewed my picture and agreed that DD Myrtle Beach assumption was "spot on" and I was trying to pull a fast one.  I am really much younger looking despite my neck's turkey like appearance,  my massive growth of nose and ear hair,  my hunched over waddle, my Andy Rooney eyebrows,  my eyes that don't have crow's feet, they have ostrich feet.
I have a few other dings like cataracts, glaucoma, macular  degeneration, light sensitivity, bad hearing in my left ear, faulty fitting dentures, a cavity in the only real tooth I have, gum disease, impending baldness, and this is just my head which I think is doing great (except for the memory loss and the distorted sense of self).


The little French Lady (LFL) and I went shopping at Walmart a few days ago.  We parked as close to the door as possible.  We cursed, honked at, made obscene gestures at the cart abandoners, tailgaters, jaywalkers and other miscreants in the parking lot.  We glared at people walking out the "IN" door.

We walked to the restrooms and I said to LFL. "I'll meet you back here in 5 minutes."  This is our regular practice since Walmart is quite a distance from our house (nearly 3 miles) and my bladder was in pre-burst mode.

Fifteen minutes later LFL came out of the restroom.
"What took so long?" I queried cautiously.
"Oh, the attendant was cleaning the urinals."
"Their are no urinals in the ladies restroom but it does explain why I saw a tampon dispenser  and no urinals in the men's room. Ah, well…let's shop."

I found my usual shopping cart. The one with the nail in the wheel.  I used to hate it but it turned out to be a good thing.  The little French lady always knew my location by the "thump..thump".

"Let's not stay here too long today.  The fluorescent light bothers my eyes and I have trouble driving these carts.  I nearly got in two fist fights for ramming people with my cart.  I never seen women get so nasty in my life. One had quite an expansive vocabulary.  I learned a few new words."

We decided to go different directions.  The wife would do womanly things like buy food and dresses.  The husband would do manly stuff like walk around aimlessly, ask the pharmacist when the viagra was going to be on sale,  look at the laxative selection and hang around the women's changing room.  We would meet by the bathroom (of course) in 30 minutes. 

As I was walking up one of the aisles, I glanced to my right and saw a pathetic beaten old man looking at me. I nodded at him.  I believe he nodded at me but I kept walking.  I thought to myself; what a piteous creature he was.

HOLY CRAP!!!!!!…That was me.  I was looking into a mirror.  
My knees almost buckled.
What happened to the young 40 something stud that got proofed at Dunkin Donuts just 7 years ago?
A metamorphosis has transpired.  I went from 47 to 74 in 7 years and I still wasn't old enough to get a Dunkin Donuts according to my calculations.
I think I will go get one of those carts that the overweight smokers drive around Walmart.  I need to sit down.  I am old.  I can be cranky all the time now.
Hah! I will make Andy Rooney seem like mother Theresa.  I can start now.
Do you know what really annoys me?  The lady talking on her cell phone in the checkout line.  Totally ignoring the clerk.  
As we leave I say to the LFL, "Don't you just hate it when people come in the "out" door. Hmmm! Don't you just hate it when the cars don't even stop for the pedestrians in front of Walmart?" 
As we pull out of our parking space " It really burns my buns when the pedestrians don't even look both ways when they walk across the area in front of  the store." (even though they have the right of way)

"Wow! look at all the cars parked in the fire lane.  Don't you just hate that?  Where's the cops when you need them? At Dunkin Donuts, that's where!!!"
Ah! Andy Rooney lives on.

The little French lady pulled out onto the highway.  She looked in the mirror and hollered, "Get off my Ass, you jerk.  Don't you hate that?"

A shiver descended down my spine.  She sounded like me!!  My trophy wife is now an old person.  
We drove home cursing relentlessly at the numerous traffic infractions occurring before our eyes. I shook my fist at people who dared make eye contact with me.  I stuck my tongue out at children in cars.      I wanted to moon a busload of nuns but the little French lady stopped me.  She didn't want to see nun road rage.

We arrived home and grabbed our groceries from and started walking towards our front door.  Our neighbor, Tabitha said, "Hi Folks, How you doing?"  I answered, "Doesn't your dog ever stop barking or pooping?" Her mouth fell agape.  She finally whimpered, "I only have a deaf 14 year old cat."
My reply:"What…ever!!"

I went into the house, ran to the bathroom, took a deep breath and then smiled.  "I believe I just had a verbal orgasm.  Free at last, Free at last, thank God,  I'm free at last.  Thank you, Martin Luther King."

Meanwhile, outside the little French lady is trying to explain to Tabitha.  
"Well, he walked by a mirror and saw his image and realized who and what he was.  Something in him snapped.  He is now a coot, a cranky dude, a curmudgeon, a grump, a reincarnation of Andy Rooney.  He has been through the stages of grief at losing his youth.  He went to acceptance pretty quickly."

"Oh, Oh! I understand. The poor guy.  I will pray for him to find peace and happiness."
"Thanks, Tabitha. And try to keep your smelly mutt quiet from now on.  See Ya!"

Life is good when you have a plan.
Grumpy is the new happy.

Thursday, March 19, 2015

Adventures in problem solving

Hemlock answers your questions

Jonathan Hemlock was born in a house he helped his father build.  This is a lie.  A midwife delivered him.  He came into the world quietly.  He was immediately held upside down and slapped.  It stung.  He cried.  This seemed to make everybody happy, so he continued doing it for the next two years. But that's another story.

Jonathan started school when he was five.  The first day, he cried, kicked and screamed.  The next day things were much better.  He only cried.  The third day a fellow student requested that he not cry any more or she would beat the crap out of him. He was immediately smittened by the girl named Terry.   She became his protector.  He wanted to marry Terry when he got old enough.  Terry just laughed and said, "not gonna happen."  Terry's companion, Pat, agreed.  But that's another story.

Jonathan graduated from high school to the amazement of almost everyone. (when he got 74 on his IQ test he thought he did really well, thinking that a passing grade was 65.)

He went to college where he was required to hand in papers, do things with books, look through microscopes, stand up and make speeches.  Jonathan deferred from doing these tasks.  He decided to memorize the student directory which was a much more profitable venture.  
Jonathan didn't actually memorize everyone,  just the important people.  The important people who frequented the Central Valley Tavern, The local college watering hole.  People would be shocked that Hemlock knew who they were, where they lived, what classes they were taking.  They would buy him a beer or two.  It was great.   But that's another story.
His social life was wonderful and strangely he passed all his courses except for his nemesis, math.
College life was not for Hemlock.  He wanted to go to the College of Life.  What a mistake.
Who knew the College of Life would have such courses as toilet bowl cleaning,  ditch digging, garbage pick ups, talking to all sorts of miserable human beings.
Jonathan did learn Computer Accounting, Bookkeeping, Psychology, Sociology, Word Processing, Excel,  Access, Photoshop and Janitorial Technologies. But that's another story.

He has become a mystery writer, still unpublished.  His main character's name is Colt Brandisher; in the current story, Colt is about to be killed in the first paragraph and Jonathan hasn't figured a way out of it.

So far, Jonathan has been a criminal profiler, a mosaic artist, a hoarder of used toilet paper, advice columnist, editorial writer, philosopher, and solver of dilemmas.  But that's another story, especially the part about hoarding used toilet paper.

First question: 
From Mr. B.O. in D.C.:
Why is my hair turning gray while the rest of me is staying the same?
*To answer your second question first, you are the president of the United States and second your hair is not gray. It is black and white, like you.  There are no gray hairs in your head, only white and black.

From Dr. Ben Carson:
Did I make a boo-boo when I talked about the gay/prison thing?
*Gosh Ben, I believe you did.  Didn't you learn anything from Scott Walker.  He has no opinion on anything.  It is better to keep quiet and let people think you're a fool than to speak up and erase all doubt.

From the Republican Party:
Why do people laugh when I talk?
*Because you say stupid stuff. (see above)

From the Democratic Party:
Why do people laugh when I talk?
*See above

From Sven from Sweden:
My wife is American.  She keeps referring to the roof of her mouth.  Does she mean the ceiling of her mouth?  I looked in her mouth while she was sleeping.  She has a ceiling not a roof.  The roof would be on top of her head.  Am I right?
*Wrong Sven, but what can you expect from people who rejected the metric system and elected George Dubbaya twice and elected  Jimmy the peanut farmer.

Biff from Beverly Hills wants to know:
Are there any white girls named Laqueisha?

Queen Elizabeth of England queried:
A priest, an alcoholic, an Irishman, and a pedophile go into a bar.  What does the bartender say?
*"What will you be drinking tonight, Monsignor?"

William Cosby, formerly of  Philadelphia enquires:
Would any of you ladies reporters like some liquid refreshment in my bedroom?  Yikes!!!!
*"You didn't know Barbra Walters was there, did you, William?"

 Biff from Beverly Hills wants to know:
Are there any Afro-American couples with the name Biff and/or Buffy?

Mike L. from upstate NY wants to know:
What do you think of the idea of changing a team's name like the Washington Redskins to something  less offensive?
*Good question, Mike!!!  I think you have to be very careful if you change the name.  My high school team changed their name from the Cheever Red Chiefs to the Cheever Chickadees.  That happened 8 years ago.  They didn't win again until this year.  They beat the Taylorville Titmouses in football, but were stomped by the Hammond Pond Hummingbirds the very next week.  Apparently chickadees do not inspire great sports teams.

As for the Washington Redskins why change it.  Let's stick with the current theme in Washington where everything is offensive.  

Mother Goose queried:
Hey….I never said Humpty Dumpty was an egg.  Where does it say that?
*Ummm!……by God, the old hag is right.

Adam and Eve interject:
"While we are on the subject, no apple! no snake! Who's spreading this propaganda?"
*Ah! again…I have no idea where this stuff is coming from,  ask Moses how many chickadees he has on the ark.

Dave D. of Vermont wants to know:
"Jonathan, do you play any sports?"
*"Yes, I play goal for the Manchester Untied Dyslexic Football Meat."

Biff from  Beverly Hills  wants to know:
Are there…
*We're done, Biff!…We're so done.

Any future inquiries should be sent to wikipedia, google or Kanye West. (They know everything)

Friday, March 6, 2015

The Hemlock agency (Profiler extraordinaire)

J. Hemlock
Street address
City, State, Zip

Hemlock muttering:
"Hmmm! let's see how this looks.  I certainly don't want bad fonts.
This looks okay.  I will finish it and send it to the printer."

Little French Lady interjects: (looking over Hemlock's shoulder.)
"What now, Sherlock?"

JH; "Profiling.  I am starting a new career.  I can do this.  I have read two books by John Douglas, the famous FBI profiler and one by Pat Brown.  Douglas profiled the Green River killer and the killer was caught."
LFL: "Yeah, they caught him, I'll give you that.  It took over 30 years and he slaughtered half the state of Washington."
JH:"What about Pat Brown, the female profiler?"
LFL:"I read her book, The Profiler.  Everyone she profiled is still walking the street."
JH: "The wheels of justice turn slowly."
LFL: "So who killed JFK?"
JH: "Hitler! Shave that mustache, who do you have? Lee Harvey Oswald, that's who!"
LFL:"Who killed Oswald, Sherlock?"
JH:" Elementary, Watson…umm, it was Jegdar Hover. Clearly the body shape of this so called Jack Ruby is identical to Jegdar Hover.
LFL: (rolling eyes) "Jegdar Hover?  Who's that?"
JH: "He is the crossdressing butterball who was director of the FBI."
LFL: "Oh…You mean J. Edgar Hoover."
JH: "What…ever!  Hey, did you know that the FBI has almost as many fingerprints as KKA?"
LFL: "KKA?"  JH: "Kim Kardashian's ass!"
LFL: "Are you working on any new cases, Inspector Clouseau?"
JH: "I am.  I am sending some information to the FBI about the Finkleburg suicide."
LFL: "Suicide?  I thought this guy was beheaded and both his hands and feet were cut off.  How can that be a suicide? IT WAS MURDER!!!"
JH:"I haven't worked out all the details yet, but it was suicide. I know people"
LFL:"You are so obtuse and clueless. Remember the incident at the beach gazebo Monday. You soiled yourself when the big black guy dressed in black sneezed.  You ran up the beach hollering "Serial Killer,  serial Killer." You almost created an incident.  A profiler indeed."
JH:  "How did I know he was a black Catholic priest.  That does not exclude him from being a serial killer or a pedo guy."
LFL:"OMG!!!!!…give it up!"
JH: "Hell, no!  I am good at this profiling thing.  See that guy walking down the street.  I will profile him.  He is a fisherman who is gay.  He has an artificial limb and he talks with a lisp.  He drives a 1965 Kharman Ghia and his hobby is killing squirrels. He is going to the beach to get rid of the body he has in that white bag he is dragging behind him."
LFL: "Oh, that wasn't too bad.  Yes,  He is a fisherman.  That is our neighbor Kevin going fishing.  I think the fishing pole was a clue there.  Everything else…wrong! The white bag with the body is actually his dog, Meg.  He is taking Meg fishing.  His wife, Wendy will be surprised to find out that he is gay and has an artificial limb."
JH: "Profiling is not an exact science.  You don't hit the bullseye every time. I think I am due for another eye exam."
LFL: "Well, Charlie Chan.  You had better find another career.  Perhaps you can become an internet troll. You know nothing about profiling.  You can't even define profiling."
JH:"Sure I can.  When you see an Irish guy….think of a drunk.  A Jewish guy….cheap.  A Chinese guy…smart.  An Arab guy….terrorist.  Do you want me to go on?"
LFL:"No, no!! You're…..unbelieveable!!!!…You should consider psychotherapy."
JH: "Can you take classes for that?  I may be too old to start.  Maybe next semester."

Sunday, February 15, 2015


I started to journal a year ago.

April 1, 2014 (Journal entry)

I awoke this morning with a cranium packed with mirthful schemes to make this an exciting April fools day.  (I wonder if people are going to buy this story?  I just won't mention to anyone that it is August 20th.)

Perhaps I will do the old "dog poop in a bag" trick.  This could be problematic.  We do not have any paper bags.  We have plastic bags.  We always used to be asked "paper or plastic?"  The clerk doesn't ask any more.  The groceries are shoved into a thin plastic bag which disintegrates half way to your car.

The LFL (little french lady) decided to smear the doggie doo all over our neighbors door handle.  This is actually more efficient.  My back up plan was to paint his house with a new shade of paint called limburg cheese.  When it dries in the sun…yum, yum!!
We will go with my plan.

You cannot buy this at Sherwin Williams.
I will report the results in my next journal entry.  Tomorrow…..April 2nd.

August 20,2014 (oops), April 2nd, 2014 (Journal entry)

Ummm…I forgot to factor in the wind with the Limburg cheese…ummm paint.  It doesn't smell good especially in the heat. I should have remembered this from college.  Someone put Limburg cheese on the radiators in the communal shower room in the dorm.  No one took showers for weeks.  The Agricultural students were not even allowed into the dorm.  They already were stinky.

We have rented a motel for a few weeks or until the essence abates.

April 3rd, 2014 (Journal entry)

I am sitting here drinking my morning coffee and reading the paper.  I read that they have the Ebola virus under control in West Africa.  The Israeli and the Palestinian are getting along well and since the American left Iraq everything is running like a well oiled machine.  Well…finally some good news!!!

April 4th 2014 (Journal entry)

Some nights I have trouble sleeping.   I think about things.  Since the Limburg incident my wife (LFL) has been cooking strangely, but this morning she has explained her logic.

We have been eating beans, pickled eggs, cabbage, bananas, prunes, broccoli and cauliflower to name a few items.
"Why?", I queried
The little french lady reasoned: If we can't get rid of the Limburg cheese smell, we can use it as subterfuge to get rid of our flatulent inducing foods.   I like the way this lady stinks thinks.    She also mentioned a couple of benefits from this.  We are heating our house with gas this week and we haven't had many visitors.  The Jehovah Witnesses did not stay long at all.  They just kinda threw a Watchtower at us and ran.  I hollered, "Bless You."

The wife always said, "When life give you a lemon make lemonade."
We did.

April 5th, 2014 (Journal entry)

Speaking of subterfuge, it is getting more difficult to fool my wife.  I have told her I was journaling every day.  I haven't written a word in about 130 days.  Hmmm,   maybe I shouldn't write this into my fake journal.
I have been doing things.  I have read a whole bunch of books.  Most of them don't have pictures.  I have my socks all rolled and my underwear and T-shirts have never looked neater.  I put them in color order after I ironed them.  The LFL doesn't like flatirons.  I do.  

Sometimes I am a tad obsessive compulsive.  I once asked the guy who was in charge of the cemetery how much work it would be to put the grave stones in alphabetical order.  He said, "A lot. You would have to dig up all the bodies."
But not really.  Who would know? Who would care?  I had him thinking for a few minutes.  So I have been doing things that require deep thought.

April 6th 2014 (Journal entry)

I have been thinking about my autobiography.  I think I will have someone write it for me. LFL says "No,  That will be a biography."  I told her I will call my friend, Stephen King.  He will help me.
She said, "Good luck with that one."  I decided not to call.  I may need some help at some point.
I can't call my friend, Stuart Woods.  We're not on speaking terms. Never were.  I asked him to help me out of a writing dilemma. (My main character, Colt Brandisher, has a bullet racing towards his head in the first paragraph.)  He actually emailed me and said, "You got yourself into this, get yourself out."

Thanks, big boy!!  Colt is as good as dead.

April 7th 2014 (Journal entry)

My OCD is acting up again.  I cannot read a book without putting every word in alphabetical order and I demanded to the LFL that my alphabet soup only have vowels. It is slow going.  I have washed the cat three times today.  I am ready to wash her again but I can't find her.
I am trying to get the LFL to become a lawyer.  We watch Judge Judy and the Peoples Court every day.  She has learned a lot about the law in the USA.    The problem with LFL is; She would have many of these people executed for stupidity.  She could probably do the Doctor Phil show too. We often turn each other and ask, "Where do they find these people?   Crazies!!!!!

I think I am getting caught up on my blogging.

I would love to write more but I have used up my supply of vowels for the day.
Gxttx gx!!!

Saturday, February 14, 2015

It is what it is…and other meaningful thoughts.


The solution to many of life's problems can usually be solved by a little creativity.  In fact the little French lady and I thought of a solution to one of our major complaints.

We thought it would be a wonderful idea if the state and federal powers would make it legal for a citizen to shoot another citizen that was texting while driving or talking on their cellphone.  We quickly realize that our logic was flawed.  We simply could not afford that much ammunition to get the job done.

Would anyone be surprised if Bruce Jenner came out and said he was raped by Bill Cosby?
Would anyone be surprised if Bruce Jenner came out with a women's sports clothing line for big muscular women at Target?
Would anyone be surprised if Bruce Jenner's rear end collision was not his first?
Would it surprise you if Bruce said to (step-daughter) Kim Kardasian,  "How long are you going to drag that big ass around?"…  and he was talking about Kanye West.

Moving on
3 dots is considered good grammar, 4…not so much.  There is a name for three dots. Ellipsis.
Ellipsis?….Huh!…?  Oops!

My bank problem.  My bank charged me an overdraft fee.  They know that I already don't have enough money.  They told me.  Why are they charging me?  Don't they get it?  Obtuse or what?

My wife asked me why Tarzan doesn't have a beard.   Does anyone have an answer?

I must be getting old.  I purchased a term life insurance policy.  The first payment was higher than the face value.   This might be a bad investment.

Zen sarcasm:
Do not walk behind me, for I may not lead. Do not walk ahead of me, for I may not follow. Do not walk beside me either. Just pretty much leave me the hell alone.

Always remember that you're unique. Just like everyone else.

If you lend someone $20 and never see that person again, it was probably worth it.

Life at home:
My wife hid my air guitar.

I just read a book about the Stockholm Syndrome.  It wasn't very good at first but towards the end I kinda liked it.

My wife sent me out to buy some cheap meat.  I returned with  10 pound of deer testicles.  I got them cheap…..under a buck.

My budding writing career.

I have been thinking about writing my autobiography.
No….no!!! Not the one that says….Jon went to his eternal whatever today surrounded by his family.
"Hey…why are you surrounding me?…back up!!!!"
That is called an obituary.

I want mine to start like James Michener novel and end like the bible apocalypse.  Both excellent fiction, just like my autobiography.  Oh, I can throw in a few seeds of truth and see what falsehood I can propagate from that,  just like Brian Williams.

Today I went to my blogger profile page to update my biography.  I quickly realized that nothing has changed.  I am as boring as I was in 2009.

I was going to add a couple of things but I already had enough information.  You don't really need to know about my bowel movements. NOTE: calculating bowel movement when you are a senior citizen is an inprecise science.  Maybe it should be considered an art, not a science,  but I digress in my babbling.

Let me do a personal inventory of my life since 2009.
I am older,  I have less hair,  I do not see as well,  I do not hear as well.  I have a new cat and a new wristwatch.  That's it!!!   Some of my friends have had some great adventures.   I could steal their lives.

I will write their lives. It will be great.
Sadly, I will not be able to go on any book tours after it is published.
I am not a good liar.  I could not stand in front of an audience and lie.
I would start to sweat profusely, stutter like crazy, hysterical weeping, diarrhea, and projectile vomiting may be involved.

I think I can do this writing thing.  My friends, James Patterson and Ernest Hemingway John Grisham agree.

Saturday, February 7, 2015

Can you hear me now? NO?


The hardest part of blogging is starting again.   I have many ideas, but the problem with writing is that real life sometime intervenes. The little French lady and I have some health issues that we are getting resolved.  It has brought our nerves a little closer to the surface.  We get annoyed more easily.  We are getting annoyed with people especially the ones we see on television.  Examples below.

Dr. Phil
I ask myself everyday why Doctor Phil needs a drummer.  We start to watch the episode and suddenly Buddy Rich and Gene Krupa start practicing.
My wife turns to me and says, " What did Dr. Phil say?'
"I think he said something about boom boom sex boom two sided pancake rodeo."
"Umm…maybe.  I heard something about a pancake rodeo,  I threw in the sex thing."  We don't have a clue what the Doctor Phil show is about anymore.  We haven't for several years.
Perhaps the drummer knows.

Pawn Stars

We have been watching Pawn stars this year.  We used to watch Hardcore Pawn, where Ashley and Seth insult each other continuously and the father, Les Gold, just stands there in his leather jacket with his mouth wide open and his eyes wide in disbelief at the spectacle of his son and daughter having a fist fight over who is going to run the company when Les drops dead of a heart attack, which appears imminent.

We looked at each other one night while watching Hardcore Pawn.  The little French lady's mouth was wide open and her eyes were wide in disbelief.  She turned to me and said, "Why are you drooling?" The answer was because I was watching Hardcore Pawn and Ashley, Seth and Les were once again fighting and my mouth was wide open.  I tend to drool when I leave my mouth open for more than 30 straight minutes.  That was the last episode we watched.

We watch Pawn Stars now.  The stars are the Harrison family, a pleasantly unattractive family made up of the old man, Rick, and Corey; Chumley (a friend) is the comic relief.  The Harrisons are a lot more fun to watch.  The whole family plus Chumley went on a diet and everyone lost a lot of weight.  No one  got much better looking. They are, to put it delicately, "big boned" and "big uglied."

The characters are: Richard Harrison Sr. (The Old Man).  His job is to sit at his desk and be grumpy or asleep.  He is the patriarch and the pawn star emeritus of the show.  He rarely does anything but bitch, eat and sleep at his desk.  I haven't seen a wheel chair so I assume he can still walk, but he doesn't .

Rick jr. is the guy who seems to be in charge.  He is a very knowledgeable guy. He knows plenty but he often refers to experts in certain fields.  The irritating thing about Rick is his laughter. He will just bust out with a chuckle or chortle over things that are not funny.

Corey is Rick's son.  He has just a delightful personality….I am told.  His main job is to get Chumley to annoy Rick.  Corey lost 192 pounds.  Impressive. The Little French Lady does not like him much, because he disrespects Rick jr. a lot.

Chumley is the star of the show.  His job is to scheme up ways to do very little work and annoy Rick. We believe the producers of the show make Chumley look like he has an IQ somewhere between 5 and 50.  He plays the part well.  They have shown a few segments where Chumley was pretty intelligent.
Some of his schemes are brilliant but doomed to failure in the end.

Person of Interest/The Blacklist

These two shows are interchangeable.  The only real difference is the whispering.  The main characters of POI is John Reese, a former CIA muscle guy and Harold (insert bird name here).  They whisper a lot.
I couldn't hear what they were saying.   I outsmarted them.  I put it on closed caption.

The whispering was in real small letters.  They outsmarted me.

I purchased a 62 inch TV through Medicare. I could read the captions.  I told Medicare it was a hearing aid.  I didn't lie.  I outsmarted everybody…except the little French Lady.  She hates it when something is scrolling at the bottom of the screen.  She disabled CC.
She still asks me what is happening.  I tell her I haven't heard anything but whispers since the first show and I haven't understood the plot since the second show.

Since The Blacklist is running the same plot line I get my thirst for murder and mayhem quench at that troth.  I also find that James Spader is as deviously good as Raymond Reddington.  He has a body count in this show that the "American Sniper" would envy.

POI will end the series when Harold's last name is Buzzard or Vulture.
Blacklist will end when Harold disables Samaritan and puts his own machine back on line which will help Raymond Reddington find the bad guys from the Blacklist.

Well, I guess I wrapped up that package nicely.  Now if I can can get Reddington to kill the drummer on Doctor Phil.  That will be the nice little bow on the package.

I told you they were interchangeable.