Top 10 Ways to Cope With the Holidays Without Committing a Felony

1. Reduce expectations and find joy in the fact that the refrigerator light bulb still works.

2. Have a good place to hide from the crazy relatives. Under the bed is an excellent choice. Carry a blanket with you at all times. You can immediately cover your head so no one knows you are there.

3. Splurge and buy a hard hat for yourself. Wear it until January 3, especially if you expect to survive putting up lights and  nasty fights over holiday deep discounts.

4. Get a yule log and a wassail when you figure out what they are. Get me one too. Buy lots of Coke in the Coca-Cola Santa can.  They are getting rid of the polar bear cans.  Another Classic failure. Coca Cola Santa always makes me happy.  Plus it goes well with rum!

5. Write a letter to Santa and tell on everyone who has been naughty. Revenge is sweet, and you can’t wrap and put a bow on that package.

6. Have plenty of aluminum foil and duct tape around. It will come in handy for something. Never use aluminum foil as a substitute for a dinner plate. Never use a dinner plate as a substitute for aluminum foil. Never duct tape a turkey.

7. Remember silence is golden, and duct tape is silver. Knowing when to apply gold or silver is important. Do not duct tape any family members under 18. Do not expect any gold.

8. Make frequent visits to best friends, Jack Daniels and Johnny Walker.  This can never be underestimated.  Put more noggin in your eggnog.  Bacardi is inexpensive and could save you from murdering Aunt Betty or Uncle Fred.

9. Try to impress people by saying you knew two of the three original Wise Men.  If that seems a little too pretentious, announce that you know at least three of Santa's elves.


10. Click your heels three times and say, "There is no place like somewhere else."   

Remember it is just  another Christmas with the family, and down deep, in a dark recess of you heart, you really love it.  Quit whining and get with spirit.  Merry Christmas.

Apple Cinnamon Dung and Garlic Snow - The Latest Bath and Body Works Fragrance*?

Don’t get me wrong, I love Bath and Body Works. I generally love just about everything they have to offer and end up buying most of it and bringing it home. Their fragrances this season leave something to be desired. I hate autumn, but there are some pleasant fragrances like pecan pie, candy apples, cinnamon rolls and fresh baked cookies that are irresistible. Bath and Body Works always captured the pleasant aromas in shampoo, air freshener, and body washes. It made the house a little nicer, the air a little sweeter and my hair smell like a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie. Not anymore! For first time in my life, I walked out of the shop without buying a single thing. Not even a candle!

I went to Bath and Body Works to pick up my favorite room fragrance, “Creamy Nutmeg”, and was righteously outraged when I found it was no longer available. Well, that put me in a bad mood right from the start. Their new fragrances had names evocative of outdoor images and spices that should not be combined in the same sentence, the same room, and never in same bottle. I did not like the fragrances of lotions, air fresheners, and shampoos with really screwy names. I cannot remember the actual names but it was something like “Dead Licorice Leaves”, “Slimy Caramel Moss”, “Polar Bear Musk”, “Vanilla Mulch”, and “Garlic Snow”. Why did they mess with products that work and replace them with some crap I will never buy? “Spicy Reptile”, “Orange Mucous”, “Cinnamon Newt”, or “Candy Adam’s Apple” sounds like some of the witch’s brew from Macbeth. My favorite was “Chocolate Fire and Brimstone”, and I didn’t really like that. I wanted to spend money on something to make the house a little more pleasant. I wanted to spend really badly, but I was not buying those smelly old fragrances.

Bath and Body Works, you made great products that I could not resist. I have gone into a shop expecting to make a $15 purchase and walked out with $150 in fragrances for the house, bath, and me. I loved them. Please come back with my old favorites. I promise to buy. Maybe I should have bought the “Lime Camel” or “Cranberry Turtle” as a token show of support. I could give it to trick or treaters.


*This was written for my friend Debra because it is her birthday and is simply for fun. There is not an element of truth to it except I did not like the new Bath and Body Works fall fragrances.

The Ten Commandments of Summer- Moses and Jesus Did Not Go Sledding. They went sailing at the beach!

I hate fall. This time of year brings out the worst in me. I am a spring/summer person. Fall is the beginning of the end, and winter is the end. When someone says, “I love the crisp air”, I really want to hit them. Potato chips are crisp, not air. That crisp air forces people inside and contributes to the spread of viral influenza, pneumonia and colds. So, go #&^% your stupid, crisp air!

When someone says, “It’s the fall color”, I reply, “Have you checked out the 4th of July?” Now, there is some color, bright shiny color. The worst day of summer has more natural color than the best day of winter.

Some people love Halloween, the first stupid, creepy fall holiday. Not Me. I love Memorial Day. In summer, the world is slow and easy. Everything seems richer and more sensuous. In the autumn, we take the tumble right before we hit rock bottom. Why do you thing they call it “fall”? When God said “Let there be light”, he had the 4th of July in mind not New Year’s Eve. That’s why summer has more light. Winter is dark and cold. It isn't God's fault!

I do not like to shiver. I do not like seeing myself breathe. I do not like the discomfort of being cold. Coats and toboggans are the devil’s work. Winter is pure evil. The world is predicted to end on Dec 21, 2012. I mention it because it is the first day of winter, the shortest day of light in the year. See! …. I know!

At least we won’t have to endure the worst part of winter next year.

Summer is a religious experience. Jesus, Moses, and God were summer people. I don’t recall any mention of snow and ice in any religion. It might be there, I just don’t recall. I am betting none of those holy guys had a sled, snow shoes, or even snow cream. Eden was summer. Endless summer is the perfect world. Adam and Eve could not be running around naked or covered with fig leaves in winter. They had apple trees and snakes. You don’t have that stuff in winter. Capiche!
Since summer is holy, there are some rules by which we all must abide. I tried to prioritize.
The Ten Commandments of Summer
1. Thou shalt not shiver!
2. Thou shalt not wear fall clothing
3. Thou shalt remember Memorial Day and keep it holy.
4. Thou shalt barbecue!
5. Thou shalt swim like a fish, and sun like a lizard!
6. Thou shalt not sneeze, cough nor secrete mucous.
7. Thou shalt have swimsuits and good bodies to go in them.
8. Thou shalt celebrate summer.
9. Thou shalt not steal thy neighbor’s beer nor ice.
10. Thou shalt have pizza on Fridays.
11. Thou shalt not be forced to bear a chilly wind.
12. Thou shalt not see thine own breath. (You get bonus commandments for summer because this is real religion)

Moses parted seas. He wouldn't have done that in cold weather. Jesus walked on water. I am going to bet the water wasn’t frozen. Anyone could walk on ice. I do wonder if his feet got wet.

The above photo is the only known photo of a Biblical figure taken with a Nikon 7000 circa 500BC.

Happy Halloween! No Treat - All Trick

For the first time in years, I am looking forward to Halloween. Halloween has always been a creepy holiday. I don't like the idea that all the dead saints are walking around begging for candy. Why do dead saints want candy? Don’t they know it’s bad for the teeth and packs on the pounds?

Halloween was always an obligation to buy 20 -30 pounds of candy to give out to complete strangers that do not live on my street or in my neighborhood. It seemed an odd thing to open a door to people I do not know, wearing masks, carrying large bags, and demanding candy. The really weird thing is everyone is doing it. It is a most bizarre, not too smart idea. Behind those masks could be robbers or worse. They might be crazed killers, or worst of all, candy-hording giants.

Halloween trick or treaters are in for a surprise this year from me. Every year the group is getting older and taller. They aren’t young children. I swear some of them have full beards or built like Dolly Parton, and it ain’t no costume. Last Halloween, I told a trick or treater that we are not giving out beer or Quaaludes. This year with the economy worsening, there will be more candy panhandlers than usual. Everyone is cutting back on luxuries and that includes Milky Ways, Snickers, and m&ms. We all do what we must.

This Halloween, I decided to have a trick rather than a treat. I am cleaning out my cabinets and medicine cabinet and giving it away. I am handing out Rolaids, travel size toothpaste, dental floss, aspirin and anything else I might find. They are demanding a trick or a treat. This year, they get a trick, no treat.

Can you imagine the conversation?
Stranger 1: “What did you get? I got a Tum and a toothpick.”
Stranger 2: “She gave me a Cert and a little bottle of Scope.”
Stranger 3: “She likes you better. She gave me a band aid and roll of gauze.”
Stranger 4: “Can I have your gauze? She gave me adhesive tape and burn ointment.”
Stranger 5: “I got a tampon and sun tan lotion.”
Stranger 6: "Why did she give me Ex-Lax and Pepto Bismol? Which one do I take first?"

Just to play it safe as an added precaution for the adult trick or treaters, I will question them whether they have ulcers or high blood pressure before I give the Advil and cough syrup. I will also check their blood pressure to make them think I know what I am doing. Some will get a foil pack of Alka-Seltzers and xeroxed copies of the sale at the nearest liquor store.

As my supply wears thin, I will turn to condiments. I will be giving out salt, pepper, ketchup, mustard, soy sauce, creamer, packets of sugar and sporks. So come early to get the really good stuff. Breath mints and band aids won’t last all night.

THE REAL REASON WHY SARAH PALIN WILL NOT RUN FOR PRESIDENT

Heart breaking news was revealed when the Divine Miss P announced she will not be a presidential contender. I knew she could not win but I looked forward to her blunders. It's like finding out someone ate the ears off your Easter Bunny. I want the ears. I know she is ignorant, a bitch, a prima donna, and according to her biography, a bit of a skank. What's not to like? She's perfect.

According to some, the reason she is afraid the world, as well as her husband will find out that the father of her oldest son, (Trip or Fall or something like that) is not black NFL star, Glen Rice, but really the son of Charles Barkley. There is an ominous similarity in appearance. My friend Sean pointed it out. We believe Trap, Trigger, Troll (or whatever his name is)is the son of Todd. Just fun to pretend.

Actually Sarah is not running for president because she has some inside information from her spiritual adviser, Guru Gotaway, the guy she snorted cocaine with over an oil barrel. It seems that this time the world will end October 21, 2011. I mean, what is the point in campaigning? Duh!

Besides, if the world did not end and she became the new president, she is frightened of her own position on gun control. She found out she will not be the only one who has firearms readily available. Some stupid Constitution thing that those lame men from 1776 made up. Who knew? That stupid Constitution keeps getting in the way. If elected, she planned to sneak it out and burn it. If elected, she also planned on quitting the job as president and forcing NBC to hire her in Katie Couric's position in order to get the last laugh on Katie. NBC was flaunting the Constitution saying they had freedom of press. See why the Constitution has to go! That damned press keeps printing the truth about her.


The world got sadder with the loss of Palin as a contender. On a brighter note, Alaska gets her back. We got rid of her. The world is not as bad as we thought. We just might actually make through October 21, 2011. Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition. I think I see a moose.

The above is all a joke we believe. Sean, Buns, Barbs

There Is a Goddam Difference Between Honor and Honesty

Why are people so obsessed with the character trait honesty? I honestly know no one who is completely honest. I know lots of honorable people. I have no use for anyone who isn’t honorable. But honest, come on! We all lie out our asses.

The simple truth is dishonesty makes for good friends. I am betting none of you remember the kid who told the truth and sat by you in Sunday school, but you all remember who helped you pull off the great escapade of your life. Dishonesty bonds. There is nothing quite like getting into trouble and lying your way out.

Honesty vs. honor test

If I ask, “Does this look bad?”

You do not say, “It looks like hell.” which is the honest answer.

You say, “Perhaps you should go for a more modest look.”

Now that is some good lying. You are "a first class, good as they come" liar.

If I ask any question of a friend, he, she, or it should do the honorable thing. Be comforting, supportive, and kind. In other words, lie like “a sum beech”.

If you went around telling the truth you would never get anywhere. You see someone approaching. He says, “Hi, how ya doin’?” He is not being honest. He neither wants to know nor cares if menstrual cramps are bothering me. He does not want to hear that I am constipated due to a tendency to get anally retentive over people who are too honest.

He wants to hear, “Much better since I ran into you.” This is dishonest, but it is admirable and honorable thing to do. We all feel much better.

This is the kind of person I seek out for friendship. He does not need to know why I am sad. He needs to prepare to kick somebody’s ass for causing it. He does not need to know why I feel like dancing; he kicks off his shoes and joins in. He sees my smile: he smiles back. He sees my shoulders slump: I get a hug. He sees I did something wrong, he is prepared to lie to the end of the earth for me. A person of honor reacts to my exploits or achievements with enthusiasm and never shoots me off my cloud. That is honorable. The person who is honest would say, "You are not a kid anymore. Stop being childish. Act mature. Quit whining. Your waist is bigger than when you were 25. You have past the halfway mark of your life. We’re all going to die."

I would rather have a friend who lies for me about where I was and what I was doing, a friend who portrays me in a more favorable light than the always honest one. Even Abe couldn’t cut. I would pick Bill Clinton for a best bud over Abe Lincoln. I wonder if Honest Abe honestly criticized that young Boothe man’s acting.

Got Sperm?

Of course that's not sperm, it's oil. According to the video below your sperm is as valuable.

5-Minute Management Course

Lesson 1

A man is getting into the shower just as his wife is finishing up her shower, when the doorbell rings.

The wife quickly wraps herself in a towel and runs downstairs.

When she opens the door, there stands Bob , the next-door neighbor..

Before she says a word, Bob says, 'I'll give you $800 to drop that towel.'

After thinking for a moment, the woman drops her towel and stands naked in front of Bob , after a few seconds, Bob hands her $800 and leaves.

The woman wraps back up in the towel and goes back upstairs..

When she gets to the bathroom, her husband asks, 'Who was that?'

'It was Bob the next door neighbor,' she replies.

'Great,' the husband says, 'did he say anything about the $800 he owes me?'

Moral of the story:

If you share critical information pertaining to credit and risk with your shareholders in time, you may be in a position to prevent avoidable exposure.




Lesson 2:

A priest offered a Nun a lift.

She got in and crossed her legs, forcing her gown to reveal a leg.

The priest nearly had an accident.

After controlling the car, he stealthily slid his hand up her leg.

The nun said, 'Father, remember Psalm 129?'

The priest removed his hand.. But, changing gears, he let his hand slide up her leg again.
The nun once again said, 'Father, remember Psalm 129?'

The priest apologized 'Sorry sister but the flesh is weak.'

Arriving at the convent, the nun sighed heavily and went on her way.

On his arrival at the church, the priest rushed to look up Psalm 129. It said, 'Go forth and seek, further up, you will find glory.'

Moral of the story:
If you are not well informed in your job, you might miss a great opportunity.


Lesson 3:

A sales rep, an administration clerk, and the manager are walking to lunch when they find an antique oil lamp.

They rub it and a Genie comes out.
The Genie says, 'I'll give each of you just one wish.'
'Me first! Me first!' says the admin clerk 'I want to be in the Bahamas , driving a speedboat, without a care in the world.'
Puff! She's gone.

'Me next! Me next!' says the sales rep. 'I want to be in Hawaii , relaxing on the beach with my personal masseuse, an endless supply of Pina Coladas and the love of my life.'
Puff! He's gone.

'OK, you're up,' the Genie says to the manager.
The manager says, 'I want those two back in the office after lunch'

Moral of the story:
Always let your boss have the first say.




Lesson 4

An eagle was sitting on a tree resting, doing nothing.

A small rabbit saw the eagle and asked him, 'Can I also sit like you and do nothing?'
The eagle answered: 'Sure, why not.'

So, the rabbit sat on the ground below the eagle and rested. All of a sudden, a fox appeared, jumped on the rabbit and ate it.

Moral of the story:
To be sitting and doing nothing, you must be sitting very, very high up.



Lesson 5

A turkey was chatting with a bull.

'I would love to be able to get to the top of that tree' sighed the turkey, 'but I haven't got the energy.'
'Well, why don't you nibble on some of my droppings?' replied the bull. They're packed with nutrients..'

The turkey pecked at a lump of dung, and found it actually gave him enough strength to reach the lowest branch of the tree.

The next day, after eating some more dung, he reached the second branch.

Finally after a fourth night, the turkey was proudly perched at t he top of the tree.

He was promptly spotted by a farmer, who shot him out of the tree.

Moral of the story:
Bull Shit might get you to the top, but it won't keep you there.




Lesson 6

A little bird was flying south for the winter. It was so cold the bird froze and fell to the ground into a large field.

While he was lying there, a cow came by and dropped some dung on him.

As the frozen bird lay there in the pile of cow dung, he began to realize how warm he was.

The dung was actually thawing him out!

He lay there all warm and happy, and soon began to sing for joy.
A passing cat heard the bird singing and came to investigate.

Following the sound, the cat discovered the bird under the pile of cow dung, and promptly dug him out and ate him.

Morals of the story:
(1) Not everyone who shits on you is your enemy.

(2) Not everyone who gets you out of shit is your
friend.

(3 ) And when you're in deep shit, it's best to keep your mouth shut!


Author Unknown

Female Presidential Candidates, Sarah and Michelle, are Interviewed on MEET THE DRESS

http://bunsandbarbs.podomatic.com/player/web/2011-05-31T22_29_29-07_00

Erma Bombeck's - When God Created Mothers

When God Created Mothers
by Erma Bombeck
The following column was her Mother’s Day column for May 12, 1974. Erma, we miss you!

When the Good Lord was creating mothers, He was into his sixth day of “overtime” when an angel appeared and said, “You’re doing a lot of fiddling around on this one.”

And the Lord said, “Have you read the specs on this order?

She has to be completely washable, but not plastic;
Have 180 movable parts... all replaceable;
Run on black coffee and leftovers;
Have a lap that disappears when she stands up;
A kiss that can cure anything from a broken leg to a disappointed love affair;
And six pairs of hands.”

The angel shook her head slowly and said, “Six pairs of hands... no way.”

“It’s not the hands that are causing me problems,” said the Lord. “It’s the three pairs of eyes that mothers have to have.”

“That’s on the standard model?” asked the angel.

The Lord nodded. “One pair that sees through closed doors when she asks, ’What are you kids doing in there?’ when she already knows. Another here in the back of her head that sees what she shouldn’t but what she has to know, and of course the ones here in front that can look at a child when he goofs up and say, ’I understand and I love you’ without so much as uttering a word.”

“Lord,” said the angel, touching His sleeve gently, “Go to bed. Tomorrow...”

“I can’t,” said the Lord, “I’m so close to creating something so close to myself. Already I have one who heals herself when she is sick... can feed a family of six on one pound of hamburger... and can get a nine-year-old to stand under a shower.”

The angel circled the model of a mother very slowly. “It’s too soft,” she sighed.

“But she’s tough!” said the Lord excitedly. “You cannot imagine what this mother can do or endure.”

“Can it think?”

“Not only can it think, but it can reason and compromise,” said the Creator.

Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek. “There’s a leak,” she pronounced. “I told You You were trying to push too much into this model.”

“It’s not a leak,” said the Lord. “It’s a tear.”

“What’s it for?”

“It’s for joy, sadness, disappointment, pain, loneliness, and pride.”

“You are a genius,” said the angel.

The Lord looked somber. “I didn’t put it there,” He said.

Trump Takes Credit for Releasing the Long Form - The Devil's Advocate

There has been so much ado about the release of Obama’s birth certificate that it is actually a joke. I cannot believe Donald Trump is taking credit for “forcing the release” of the long form. Hah. Trump would take credit for the moon if he could. I expect any night to look up and see TRUMP written across the moon. It is his, isn’t it? I better shut up or he will take away my viewing privileges.

With the release of certificate of live birth, I will play the devil’s advocate. The devil pays me to do this shit anyway. Not much pay, but he pays. So in the future I will try to be a better advocate.

Go Devil, go. Yay. Devil!

Back to the point: Obama’s birth certificate. Unlike other crazy people, I will not question the legitimacy of the document as far as the state of Hawaii goes. I will be even crazier than that. I will question every entry on it. A baby was born. So far so good. The name matches up with whom we believe to be the president. But we must remember, anyone can carry around a birth certificate, but that does not mean you are that person. A piece of paper does not a person make. I have a copy of his birth certificate but that does not mean I am the president does it? If It does, man, anyone I don't like is headed for prison for failure to appreciate me.

Anything could have happened. Were the babies switched? Do we have DNA evidence that proves he is the son of this man from Africa and this woman who gave birth in Hawaii? It is quite possibly someone got the wrong babies. I can see no option but to collect DNA specimens from other blood relatives. That would solve this issue.

Did you ever wonder if there was more than one born with this name? Or maybe this is a relative. That’s it! He stole his cousin’s identity. Obama is his own cousin. I just had an even worse thought. I believe the prez is none other than Obama’s father. Obama is his own father! Our president is really a generation younger which puts him around thirty. That was the real cover up. He lied about his age. There are laws governing age too, you know. The other dude that has all the background was his father because our president is really Obama III born in Cincinnati.

Time of birth? They can say anything they want. I have no idea if my birth certificate is accurate. I don’t really remember. All the rest is assumed to be correct but not one of knows for sure. Birthdate? The same. Who knows? Parents? Do we ever really know? A mother can say whatever she wants when they fill out one of those things. They believed me when I did it. I lied. The father of my child is really Matt McConaughey.

The really big question that bothers me most and really sticks in my mind other than any other portion of this document is was his mother really named Stanley?

Don’t be a Flying Asshole

While recently reading a flight attendants' list of common courtesies on planes for making everyone's flight more enjoyable, I noticed it left out some very important issues. Please, when taking your next flight, observe the Ann Coulter's List of Proper Plane Etiquette:


1. While it may be necessary to make a phone call after taking your seat, keep the personal stuff to yourself. None of us want to hear that Mr Happy is going to be Mr Lonely for the next few days.
2. Don’t be a hog. Keep your fat ass in your own seat and do not let other body parts intrude into aisles or others' personal space. Keep elbows at you side so that the arm pits are never exposed. Arm pits are not pretty. Also, please keep your ass out of anyone’s face. It’s a little too intimate for perfect strangers.
3. Do not be the parent with the screaming kid. Changing altitude affects a baby’s ears. They do not know how to handle the situation with anything but a scream. Something to drink going up and coming down cures this. No one is disrupted and baby has no unpleasant experiences. Please, people, learn this simple fact.
4. Avoid porn when using computers in mid-flight. It makes people around you extremely uncomfortable when they are trapped with you for several hours. No one wants to go in the bathroom after you with the knowledge that you have looked at porn for 45 minutes. Do not take the laptop with you to the bathroom. We know what you are doing.
5. Do not get up more than 4 times during a flight. Do you know how annoying that is? If your bladder problems are that severe, stay home or use Depends . Also refuse liquids before and during flight if you are this leaky.
6. Do not eat a big old bean burrito prior to flight. The entire cabin appreciates it.
7. Do not get drunk prior to takeoff. People cannot escape you and they will be forced to kill you. I've seen it happen. We all agreed to never tell.
8. Don’t be loud and annoy the person beside you. While they may indulge in some chatter, they do not care to see your entire photo collection of your vacation, care about Uncle Henry’s hernia, Melissa's wedding, nor your entire medical history. During any flight, feign sleeping. If there is noise or accidental bumping, conversation, you can act annoyed by the disturbance. They will leave you alone if you make an angry face
9. Men, do not feign sleep as an excuse to let you hand slip on a woman’s breast. Accidentally touching a woman’s breast is not likely to happen anymore than accidental crotch grabbing is. We know and will slap you.
10. Avoid being the problem on the plane that has everyone on board angry when they deplane. Use deodorant. No stopping up the commode. No questioning every single item on the dinner menu (It’s beef or chicken) or drink list. Above all, no farting. We know who did it.

Dylan! Don't Abuse the Condiments!

I have survived an event filled weekend with an old set of dear family friends. They are kind, generous to a flaw, gracious, loving folks. They planned to arrive in my fair city to attend a reunion and visit with us which was great. They are wonderful people. Unfortunately they have a child, a demon seed, the spawn of the devil, Beelzebub, Jr. We call him Dylan.

Dylan is a the most hyper-active child imaginable. He is genius, having learned to read at 2. He was talking at 6 months and starting getting in trouble around 3 days old. Not bad trouble mind you, just enough to make him terribly difficult. Even for the hard core, you can bust a gut laughing. My son lives vicariously through Dylan as he is too well-behaved to ever get involved in any of this stuff.

Dylan is a master of escape. It first started when we are Six Flags and the five year old Dylan turned up missing. We noticed him on the railroad tracks a few seconds later. The grounds are chained off. He should not have been able to do it, but there he was walking on the tracks and the train would be coming any second. Sonia and I had to think fast. I abandoned my four year old, who stood quietly watching the action. He was used to it by now. We had to save her son. I was trying to push her over a wall to get to him. It was reminiscent of Lucy and Ethel trying to get over a wall. I boosted Sonia up and then pushed her rear to get her over. When she was at the top of the wall, Security arrived saying she could not do it. I was screaming her kid is on the tracks. Security saw what was happening and quickly unlocked the gates. I left Donna alone sitting on the wall like Humpty Dumpty and ran furiously for Dylan. I yanked him out of the way a few seconds before the train got him.

When we all went to Disneyworld together, we had settled down for a quick lunch. One minute he was there, the next he was gone. Once again he was missing in action. He managed to get into a ride and was watching from the sides waving at people and throwing french fries. He missed lunch. We were not asked to leave Disneyworld but security was not impressed. We were warned.

Then there was the fire alarm incident at the airport. Oh yes, he pulled the alarm. Again security showed up. He was a small 6 year old, and they thought he was three. His mother explained that he did not know what he was doing. He knew. This kid could read at two. He wanted to see a little action.

I have known this kid his most of his life and it has been a wild thirteen years. I knew he was trouble when he was kicked out of preschool for using ketchup and mustard to finger paint. His screamed when they took away his yellow paint (mustard)and slapped the teacher with his ketchup, mustard, relish hands.
No one was sure where he obtained the condiments. It seems he has been into condiment abuse his entire life. He once skated across a marble floor on Log Cabin syrup. There was something ironically poetic about that.

Recently we went out to eat at fast food. Nice restaurants are out since his family has been banned from most of them. Dylan is now 15 and his maturity level will never match his IQ. Ordering food was a major disaster. He started by asking the man behind the counter how much money he made. We explained that he should not ask personal questions. He then asked if he was married and had a house. The man answered no. I tried to rush him up to stop the questions. "I suppose you are not married because you cannot support anyone off what they pay you here." I reminded him again to please place his order. We decided it would be better to take out the food as the staff was getting annoyed with Dylan. I was paying and chatting away with his parents at the counter. Dylan had his food so what could go wrong, right? Condiment abuse.

My husband ran to get control of the situations. Dylan had already bagged up a full sack of ketchup, mustard, Splenda, sugar, forks, creamer, straws, several sauces and and dips. We politely grabbed the kids' food and left. Everyone was bitching at Dylan all the way home over his grabbiness to no avail. We had no idea how much loot he garnered in the condiment section as we left the scene of the crime in a hurry. We were just scrambling to get out of there without anyone being in trouble. When we arrived home, he dumped his bounty on the cabinet. There must have been 300 packets of assorted condiments. He proudly displayed his loot with the pride of a six year old who had been out trick or treating all evening for condiments. His parents were shocked; we were laughing; and my son (the same age) was beside himself giggling. Needless to say, not one of us can go there again.

By the time the weekend was over, we did well. No one had any serious injuries. My son was hit in the face with a baseball and a tooth was loose but no major injury. No murder or child abuse charges had been filed. I had jelly all over the cabinet where he tried to make a PB&J sandwich while the adults were in the living room. A cabinet is easily cleaned. My house was trashed but it will clean up in a week or less. I have only a few hairs left as I pulled most of them out , but hey, they'll grow back. We are all frazzled but a few calm days will fix that too. At the end of the weekend, I have a lifetime supply of condiments which I suppose is a good thing. So if anyone needs any ketchup, mustard, honey mustard sauce, honey, barbecue sauce, straws, sugar, Splenda, salt or pepper, I have plenty of packets to share.

His mother and I have now become charter members for "Moms who Drink and Swear."

Tribute for Harry Wesley Coover Jr (Mr Super Glue)

It is with great sadness that I report Mr Super Glue has died at age 93. Apparently, it happened last week. He was a true scientist to the core. He never made millions from the product that almost every household in America has used on a regular basis. His invention was quite by accident. This accident should have told him and the rest of the world something significant. Super Glue has its own "mojo". I have thanked and cursed the man more than anyone without knowing his true identity until his death. It is only fitting and proper that I should honor Harry Wesley Coover, Jr by telling a few Super Glue stories.

I am both master and disaster with Super Glue. I personally have had more mishaps with the "stuff" than anyone on the planet. I have glued my fingers together (who hasn't?), glued my hand to a phone (they looked clean, and it was ringing), glued my hand to a towel (trying to wipe glue off), glued my hand to a light switch (again, I thought my hands were clean), glued my hand to my thigh (while holding an object until it set), glued the object being fixed to a body part that sure didn't need gluing. But I am not the only one.

I have a friend, who will remain anonymous, who had a major mishap with Super Glue while helping her daughter complete a school project. While she was tirelessly working away, my friend noticed her daughter was goofing off and chatting with a friend on the phone. She was angry. She was doing all the work, and her daughter was having all the fun. She hit the table with her fist not knowing that a tube of Super Glue was on the table. The good news is her hand did not get stuck. The bad news is the tube of glue was permanently attached to the table. The really bad news is it sprayed out when she hit it, spewing out over her on the right side of her body. When it hit, she swung her head around see what happened. Her head also included swinging her hair, unfortunately. Big mistake. She had pretty, long hair. Her hair was now stuck to the side of her face and sweater. She had to cut her hair away from her face and had one inch stubble glued to the right side of her face when I showed up to rescue her. She was tweezing glued hair, but no hair came loose loose, just moving the glued half her face up and down, causing pain. I suggested she shave.

Shaving helped; then, we used lotion to peel off the rest. My friend was wearing a sweater that was loosely knitted (it had large openings) and no bra. The Super Glue went through the holes in her sweater gluing it to her right boob. When she tried to change clothing, she realized her sweater was stuck to her. I doubled over laughing at her. She ended up wearing the sweater. For two days, she wore that sweater. Finally, she figured out how to get it off. She cut the glued area out of the sweater and pulled it off. Then she used acetone to remove the remains of the sweater from her right breast. Some areas of the body should not be exposed to acetone. She knows.

Thank you, Harry Wesley Coover Jr, Mr Super Glue, for all the glued times. You saved my ass more than once. You also got me in trouble dozens of times. Thank you for the many stories you have provided. I wouldn't have missed a one of them. However, I am very thankful we never shook hands. I feel sure there would have been "a permanent bond". I am sincerely sad to hear that your life has passed. Goodbye, old friend that I never knew.

When I heard of his demise, the obvious pun came to mind. I thought he would have stuck around longer.

Top Ten Reasons the World Should End on 12-21-2012

So much has happened in the last few months that it seems a general population loss might be beneficial for the planet. Humans, it seems, are not smart enough to share a planet the size of the world. We can feed the planet, but we don't. We should take care of out weakest fellow earthlings, but we won't. Tolerance is an absolute "can't". Living has become a privilege of the elite. Maybe the planet should just fold.

We have killed the Gulf of Mexico, Japan is radioactive, and revolution has become a way of life. A major earthquake hits way too often. Who can keep count? I am tired of all the disaster, revolution, war, and misery. It's flood and drought. Birds and sea-life are dying at an alarming rate. But on a brighter note, if the world ends there are ten top silver linings to this dark cloud.

10. Death cures everything. Including everyone's taxes and the tax argument. You wont have to pay any more taxes for year ending Dec 31, 2012. We finally get to beat the IRS. We also don't have to worry about returning overdue books and video rentals. It will all be taken care of.

9. It won't matter that your retirement account has been drained or that your house is not paid off. You will not need either for long. Don't worry about the new roof, the aging air conditioner or remodeling.

8. Winter of 2012 will be canceled. This is a big win. We will not be forced to endure one last, long, harsh winter. If we all have to die, I am glad it isn't summer.

7. Gluttony is good. No more calorie counting, weight watching, and exercising to maintain health. Fit and firm won't matter as the world explodes with it's last burst of energy. In fact , feel free to put on thirty pounds. Angels are lighter than air.

6. No worries about sending your children to colleges. The colleges will all melt. Besides, it isn't like the kids would be prepared for professions and employment later. Why isn't there a college course called standing in line 101 if we want them prepared for the future? Foraging for Food 500 would make an excellent graduate course for those 90% who did not find jobs.

5. Go ahead. Max out those credit cards. Indulge yourself. Die wearing a half million in diamonds. I don't think debt collectors will find us in the afterlife. We won't even have to pay back China.


4. Get a fast sports car on credit. Ferraris are especially nice, final choices. Also, you can run from disaster faster than the other guys. Survival of the fastest might decide who wins and who loses. Stack the odds in your favor with no worries about paying for it. The banks melt on 12-21-2012

3. Open all your Christmas presents early and enjoy them. Last minute shoppers will not have to worry about doing a darn thing. The shops will all be "closed".

2. Check for Hanukkah and try to work all the days in before 12-21-2012.

1. Charlie Sheen is the new messiah. Follow his advice. He will survive. His body is conditioned.

I used to think 12-21-2012 was a joke. No one would go anywhere and it would be a rather uneventful day. I am beginning to think the Doomsday folks are not as crazy as I thought. We now have hope of being free of all worries, finances, taxes, wars, revolutions and all but one big natural disaster. So cheer up and never let on to the authorities that we are beginning to look forward to 12-21-2012. They might cancel it.

Cheney Has A Change of Heart - An Angel Gets his Wings.

Early yesterday morning, Dick Cheney awoke a changed man. He had an epiphany in the night. He would change his ways. He drove himself to the nearest homeless shelter and gave each person there $10,000.00 There were 283 at the shelter. From there he rode up to Bethesda Hospital and donated eighteen million for the war injured. He also set up a fund where any additional needs of any disabled vet would be directly billed to him.

After some serious contemplation over lunch, he had KBR jets fly him to New Orleans. He was shocked at the mess still in the City. He wrote a check for $100 million. After commissioning a boat called Hope, he viewed the Gulf of Mexico. He came back, shut down Halliburton, and prayed. His family was quite perplexed by this action. They pleaded for a medical evaluation. He explained that he was merely trying to set a few things right. He realized he could not take the cash with him.

After several hours of examination, it was determined that Cheney was some sort of weird phenomenon. He had used up all the evil, there was nothing but good left inside him. The former ramblings had been that of a man who had a guilty conscience. When they checked his heart, there was no pulse, no blood pressure. In fact, he did not have a heart. His family instantly put a stop to all his former good will. He returned to normal. No heart nor conscience.

Happy April Fools. You didn't really think Cheney had changed, did you?

Middle Age is a Bitch!

I have finally had to admit I am middle-aged. It isn't easy when you have been in adolescence for thirty years. I get hurt all the time for no reason. I find myself in doctors’ offices for a problem that I never even noticed before. It's like a hangover I don't deserve. Every time I turn around, there is another $2000 in bills. I have bruises without a clue as to where they come from. Cuts and scars appear on an hourly basis. I am afraid to move; I might get hurt.

My latest injury (?) was a rotator cuff injury. Technically doesn’t injury mean you did something to hurt something? Well I didn’t do anything. I was quietly living the “middle-aged housewife/ mother” nightmare, I mean, uh... dream. I noticed I was having trouble moving my arm that it did not go away. I tried to tell my doctor I had tennis elbow in my shoulder. He diagnosed it as rotator cuff injury. That means tennis elbow in your shoulder. He sent me to a sports medicine doctor. That's good, right? I get to play some game or something. I thought the new doc would give me some medicine to make me run faster and jump higher, or at least kill the pain. All I go was a shot in the arm, a very painful shot in the joint. I was not running nor jumping anywhere.

Like most of the other body parts and injuries, I have no idea what it is until I break it. Well I don’t know Jack Shit about medicine, but I know pain. A rotator cuff injury hurts like a sumbeech and the shoulder is painfully frozen in place. So, what I thought was a hurt arm because I “slept funny” has resulted in weeks of physical therapy, three times a week. My son thought it was cool because baseball pitchers get rotator cuff injuries. He thought I would meet some famous athletes like CJ Wilson, Cliff Lee or Colby Wells. Well, I didn’t. I ran into some grumpy middle-aged and old people, but a few especially lovely people.

It gets humorous when we would go into physical therapy and act as the others cheerleader or nemesis. Therapy became a competition on equipment once I got involved. I sat down at the hand bike (They named it, not me) and a nice lady was being seated beside me. She was new. I felt obligated being a familiar patient to make her feel welcome. Gina had the same problem. She was an athletic middle-aged woman of good spirit. I smiled and told her to watch Derek, her therapist, as he was sadistic. I waited for her to start and asked if she wanted to race. She said, “You’re on.” A friendship was born. My therapist cheered for me as Gina’s cheered for her. The whole group got involved. I burned 6 calories and got .2 mile. Gina had 5 calories and .1 mile. In Gina’s defense, I had been in therapy for a week and half already. They kept us together for competition. Gina was the reason I tried harder. I had to kick her ass. Physical therapy on Wednesday usually turned into lunch with Gina. We will remain friends.

There was an old geezer using a cane. He had an interesting face and a devilish smile. I once thought he rather enjoyed the pain of physical therapy. He smiled when he hurt. He had knee replacement surgery. He explained they cut his leg into twice during the surgery, and he had completed rehab. This was his last step. Well I grew fond of the old geezer, Carl (name changed to protect his privacy). We began to tell how we were injured when the therapists were away. I told him I was innocent and did nothing to cause my injury. Carl said he thought he knew what caused his bad knee. I unassumingly asked “What?” Well, I fell right into his trap. He was a riot. He wasn’t worried about jogging or walking again. Not my boy, Carl. It was the sex that bothered him most. He told me he thought the “constant stress” on his knees during sex wore one knee out. I worried about his wife. Seems he was married to a younger woman. He was 72 and had a 40 year-old wife. He could not have sex to his satisfaction, and it was wrecking his life. When I suggested he should have tried alternate positions, he rolled his eyes. He began explaining the Kama Sutra and tantric sex. I felt absolutely guilty listening to the old man talk about sex, but I listened. I listened to every word. I listened close. I did mention that I am a middle-aged housewife/mother, didn’t I? Finally, Carl was in his last days of physical therapy and almost ready to resume a normal sex life.

One day as my therapist was stretching my arm muscles, I shrieked in pain. Carl scolded him (I thought).

"Sweet Mother of God," he yelled, "you are killing her." I was feeling all warm and fuzzy because Carl came to my defense. I was wrong.

Next, he asked, "Does her husband pay you to do that? I have a twenty if you'll do it again." My pain vanished as we all laughed like hyenas.

Gina, Carl and I became quite a trio. We gave the therapists hell and they had to be nice to us. They would get fired. Carl tried to hire me to do his leg exercises. I agreed to do them for free if he would do my shoulder exercises. When they called for me to do my job, Carl went, and I politely took his place with his therapist. We refused to do the correct exercises and called the PT’s "sick, twisted, sadistic angels of mercy". Gina was laughing too hard to do any therapy. What should have taken 45 minutes to an hour became a two hour session of therapy. I get re-evaluated next week. I might graduate. Strange as it sounds, I am going to miss the little family we became for a few weeks.

Tripping in Costco

(Forwarded to me in an email, author unknown)

Yesterday I was at my local COSTCO
buying a large bag of Purina dog chow for my loyal pet, Molson, the Wonder Dog and was in the checkout line when a woman behind me asked if I had a dog. What did she think I had, an elephant? So since I'm retired and have little to do, on impulse I told her that no, I didn't have a dog, I was starting the Purina Diet again... I added that I probably shouldn't, because I ended up in the hospital last time, but that I'd lost 50 pounds before I awakened in an intensive care ward with tubes coming out of most of my orifices and IVs in both arms. I told her that it was essentially a perfect diet and that the way that it works is to load your pants pockets with Purina nuggets and simply eat one or two every time you feel hungry. The food is nutritionally complete so it works well and I was going to try it again. (I have to mention here that practically everyone in line was now enthralled with my story.) Horrified, she asked if I ended up in intensive care because the dog food poisoned me. I told her no, I stepped off a curb to sniff an Irish Setter's ass and a car hit us both.

I thought the guy behind her was going to have a heart
attack he was laughing so hard.

Costco won't let me shop there anymore..

Better watch what you ask retired people. They have all the time in the world to think of crazy things to say.

Don't Touch My Junk!

As airports are becoming more clogged this holiday week, some are protesting new requirements that subject travelers to full-body scans and thorough pat-downs that involve touching passengers' clothed genital areas. They want to make Wednesday "National Opt-Out Day," bringing the security process to a halt by encouraging everyone to demand a time-consuming physical search.

The issue gathered steam earlier this month, when a video of a man arguing, "Don't touch my junk" with San Diego airport screeners went viral. John Tyner refused to submit to a body scan. [The Post-Standard] Since then, some horror stories have emerged:

• In a video that's going viral on the Internet, a little boy's irritated father takes the 8-year-old's shirt off so he can be patted down at Salt Lake City International Airport, prompting watchers to mutter in disbelief. [CNN]

• In Chattanooga, Tennessee, a 3-year-old girl screamed "Stop touching me!" as she was patted down by security personnel. Her dad is a TV reporter and got the whole thing on cell-phone video. [YouTube]

• A Michigan man who uses a urostomy bag to collect urine after surviving bladder cancer says he was left crying and covered in urine after TSA agents ignored his warning that their pat-down could break the seal on the urine bag at Detroit Metropolitan Airport. The man said agents also ignored his request to go to a private screening area. [MSNBC]

• In North Carolina, a flight attendant who is a breast cancer survivor was told to remove her prosthetic breast in a private screening area at Charlotte Douglas International Airport. [WBTV]

Transportation Security Administration head John Pistole said in a statement Sunday that the agency will strive to make screenings "as minimally invasive as possible," The Associated Press reported.

Why the scans and pat-downs? TSA points to the alleged attempt by a Nigerian man with explosives in his underwear to try to blow up a flight to Detroit last Christmas.

Rep. John Mica, R-Fla., who is set to become Transportation Committee chairman in January, is a longtime critic of the TSA. Mica said Sunday that the TSA needs to refine its techniques, Politico reported.

Kinkileaks: Sex in the Air

A new website, Kinkileaks is sending orgasmic ripples through the airline industry. The intent of the recordings started innocently enough as they were merely working in conjunction with Homeland Security to try and avert any terrorist activity. All they were going to do was regularly release the brown box recordings of each flight taken from the public restrooms. Boy was that a dumb idea!

The brown box recordings were the verbal exchange of passengers who were interested in making the mile high club before, during, and after take off. Some of them took "take off" literally and shed all their clothing. More people are screwing around at 10,000 feet than you might think. Over 200 flight conversations have been released sending attorneys for American and Southwest to federal court scrambling to suppress them. Buffy and Bif did not appreciate their first attempt at consummating their marriage being made public. Joe and Freida, on the other hand, liked the exposure and are now appearing on Jerry Springer on a weekly basis.

It appears that members of the Mile High Club frequent American and Southwest Airlines due to attendants' hotness level. Virgin Air (what a joke)has released a CD of recordings from their bathrooms from the past two years to their shareholders. Absolutely nothing but flatulence and flushes were recorded. With all major airlines upcoming release of brown box recordings, American and Southwest will not be alone in this embarrassment (or pride in prowess). More people are scheduling flights than in recorded history. No pun intended.

An excerpt from one of the recordings was played to the press Monday morning. In the recording a pilot can be heard asking a flight attendant to join the mile high club over Mexico City. A spokesperson for American Airlines read a prepared statement, "We are working with the proper authorities and we would like to assure the public that this new level of intimacy will not affect prices." though he did admit they have many more flights in the history of the airline now available to Mexico. "We are also trying to find the names and phone numbers of willing attendants for future flights as we intend to make your traveling experience more pleasurable."

Kinkileaks announced on its website that they plan to release information on 500 more flights, including international flights. This announcement sent Air France scrambling for a statement. (G0 French!) The pilots union expressed one statement quite clearly, "We did not have sex with that woman."

anonymous