nobody asked…

After reading my earlier post wherein I talked about cousins and geezers, my Welsh friend Liz sent this, saying that when she saw it she thought of me. I complained to Liz, letting her know that I am NOT slow. Nor do I use a cane. Yet.

In fact at the last geezer speed trials, I placed 37th out of a field of 85 entrants, earning the distinction of being classified high-normal, or slightly above normal, whatever the hell normal is defined to be at any given moment by any particular group.

With a hearty thank you to Liz, but with apologies to SLOW Geezers everywhere, this obviously contrived and staged photo is laugh-out-loud funny. If we’re allowed to live to that age, and still be in a vertical orientation, there we all go…

[A few folks out there who have lost their sense of humor and humanity will undoubtedly take offense at this, loudly decrying that this is somehow offensive to elders. Those are the same few folks who have lost touch with reality and object to everything that is not in sync with their narrowly channeled thinking. I do not apologize to them. My wish for them is that they get a life...before it is too late...]

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Understand the motivation of the liar and you will recognize and understand the lie.

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[Wave of the campaign collection plate to Crooks & Liars for bringing to us this nugget from the collection over at Mock, Paper, Scissors].

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Thursday, January 17, 2008

Sunrise this morning finds Nashville and most of the Middle Tennessee area beginning the slow and dangerous process of digging out from the worst blizzard in recent memory. The entire region was buried in as much as 1/4 inch of heavy, wet snow. Some outlying area reported accumulations as much as 1/2 inch. Temperatures are not helping the dangerous conditions as thermometers plunged below freezing, dipping as low as 29 degrees in some parts of the area.

This photo from The Tennessean is accompanied by a caption that a Wal-Mart customer gets excited about the snow as he pushes his cart in the parking lot at Wal-Mart in Cool Springs.

Not everyone will be so thrilled, as motorists’ usual morning routines of driving while talking on cell phones, drinking coffee and eating bagels, will be made dangerous by the extremely wet pavement. Backroads and lesser used routes may not be free of snow sludge until late morning when the current 35 reading is expected to top 40.

Many area schools will be closed today to keep the children safe from each other. It is normal practice to include a number of snow days in the school year calendar. This arcane practice has roots in the days before global warming, which, of course, does not exist because Bush said it doesn’t. Regardless, the school superintendents have the flexibility of those built-in snow days to use as they see fit, for inclement weather conditions, failed infrastructure in the schools (heating, A/C, plumbing, internet connections), or because they just need a day off to get away from the little bastards.

Please continue to monitor your source of local weather information for news of the next winter storm that we also did not know was coming. And, be safe out there…

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Heh… I saw this over at Dustbury and thought I would help Chaz get the word out…

One improvement would be a padded shoulder strap so you could just sling it up and keep your hands free for torturing other small domestic pests. And maybe a Velcro strap for lashing down the tail. Chaz pointed out that it may not work for ferrets. I would add the caveat to use extreme caution if trying to secure your pet python with the Cat Carrier — it probably ain’t gonna work — and the snake is gonna get mightily pissed.

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(Previously appeared as Up On The Rooftop… December 24, 2005 and 2006)

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I CAN HAZ MORE CHEEZEBURGERZ … NOW!

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[Wave of the sombrero to Mike Lester and Nashville City Paper, 12/03/07]

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“Hey, Sergeant, what say we break for lunch? NOW!“

Let’s hear your best alternate caption to replace mine.

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Many of us will spend more time than usual on the porcelain throne today. Maybe that’s why the Friday after Thanksgiving is so widely observed as a holiday, so we can stay close to the water closet. Yesterday’s feeding orgy is paid for with today’s gastric and digestive ailments. Some may suffer … did you ever hear of anyone enjoying? … the green apple quick step, a.k.a., ahemmmm … diarrhea. Others may become bound up in the throes of constipation.

It has been said that the web has answers for everything. In support of that premise, there is a web-site dedicated to the latter, and probably has links for the former. Are you ready for this? Let’s Talk Constipation dot com.

If you are one of the millions of afflicted Americans, take your laptop or plenty of reading material into the little privacy space to occupy your time and mind during your visits. And happy shi… er, uh, sitting…

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A worthwhile and still timely rerun of this November 23, 2006, post. The ‘toon is from our Israeli friend Yaak at Dry Bones Blog.

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I do not suffer from insanity. I enjoy every minute of it. — Bumper sticker

When I saw this bumper sticker earlier this week, I laughed out loud, whipped out my ever-present 3×5 card and trusty Pentel, and scribbled it down. Little did I realize that this was an omen, not just another laughable one liner.

This turned into the week from hell … and it ain’t over yet, my friends. Starting out bright eyed and bushy tailed on Monday morning, it looked like a much easier week than I’ve had recently. This was good. Body and mind and spirit were bent and cracked from weeks of constant abuse. However, the easy feeling did not last. A long list of customers, some of whom I have not heard from in months, all decided that I did not have enough to do this week. So they all called. At once. All wanting help. Now.

OK. Been here and done this before. I can handle it. Of course, little did I know what monsters lurked in the dark corners of the week ahead. On Tuesday, the lights over the cook stove blew. Both of them. Again. I had replaced the odd-ball bulbs about a month ago. Damn Chinese quality control, or lack thereof. So I pulled one out to take with me to be sure I got the right odd-ball bulb.

Wednesday’s work went to hell in the proverbial hand-basket. (Note to self: What is a damn hand-basket?) Then I came home to find that the great new food disposer I had purchased along with installation, had been done by a flunk-out from Bubba’s College of Food Disposer Installation and Repair. After I got the two leaking plumbing joints to quit doing so, I looked and realized the disposer itself was hanging at about a 15 degree angle from the bottom of the sink. Two more trips by the installer, numerous phone calls, several broken promises, and multiple mini-strokes later, the angle of the dangle has come down to between 5 and 10 degrees and only one small leak remains.

As soon as the duel with pistols negotiation with the big box retailer is finished, I will chronicle this entire sordid event here. As of this morning, it is not resolved, and the work to fix it falls on … ta-daaaaaa … you guessed it.

In the middle of my Friday workday, Roomie calls for the 7th time to give me an update on her phone wars with the big box retailer and the installer. That’s when she also laughed and said, “Now don’t have a heart attack or stoke, but…” Now friends, it does not matter what words follow that phrase, but one thing you can be damn sure of is that the message ain’t gonna be good!

After she told me that the top shelf on my side of the walk-in closet had come crashing down, dumping all that was on it and all my shirts and slacks and jackets hanging from it onto the floor, I could not laugh. I could not cry. I could not even curse. All I could do was say, “OK”, and stare out the car window as I saw my entire weekend vanish into chores I did not want to do.

All I wanted was a little time to watch and enjoy some football. Maybe next year.

Y’all have a good weekend and raise a cold one to poor ol’ Winston, stuck under the kitchen sink or on a ladder in the closet. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to make a quick trip to Home Depot, my religious institution of choice.

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