Art of Nose Picking
There is an art to picking. I first became aware of this in the 8th grade at North Heights Jr. High in Texarkana, Arkansas. My 8th grade geography teacher, Coach McKinney, had the art down perfectly.
I sat in the middle row directly across from his desk but a couple of seats back. This provided me some level of security when the threat level went from caution to Red Alert, attack imminent.
At first, I believed Coach didn’t realize that he was teaching more about nose picking and its various nuances, than geography. This could be why I mastered the first and not the second. Once we were all seated after the bell rang, Coach would open up his geography book and look at us with a blank stare as though he wanted to say something. We looked back with blank stares as though we wanted to hear something. Coach, was the assistant football coach and head basketball coach because he was taller than the football coach. It all makes sense. I had to be careful though because I played sports and whatever I did or not do in class could and would be used against me later on in the Coach’s courtroom of Law. This was the basis of today’s Miranda warnings.
Once everyone got past the stare stage, class would begin. Coach would ask things like” can anyone tell me where I put my paddle board?” I usually raised my hand and would say something like” Coach it’s still stuck to Billy’s Butt.” That much I knew about geography, location is everything.
Then Coach would lean way back in his chair, with outstretched arms and clasp his hands behind his neck. I had seen this move before. I’m sure most of my classmates thought he was just bored and disinterested in being a teacher and took a casual laid back approach. Not me. This was his warm up signal usually accompanied by his head twisting side to side getting out the kinks. My early warning booger picking deflection system sent out an alert that attack was imminent.
Coach then would lean forward and gaze around the room as through it was an important thing to do and then ask Patsy to read page 1, paragraph 1 in our text book. Although we were almost to semester break, we were slow to learn. Once Patsy started reading, I fell asleep, but one eye cocked on Coach.
On cue, Coach went into the retrieve and load position. He was very particular about retrieval. Digging around is an art itself. Carefully selecting the most robust booger with proper form and texture was paramount to it hitting its target.
Once he had made his selection, next came the exam and roll technique. Coach would roll his choice selection between his thumb and forefinger, gently massaging it into a solid mass never taking his eye off of it. By now, the whole class has caught on and is on the edge of their seats and were preparing for the duck and cover. Everyone is looking around and a slight hum begins to ensue as we eagerly await the shot heard around the world.
Coach, was never one to hurry the process, including teaching geography. Once he got just the right firmness and texture, he would then raise it slowly to his mouth and gently spit ever so gently on his creation. One last tweak of his ammunition required taking it to his left ear after the spit on. Leaning his head to one side and rolling it around while listening intently to its peculiar resonance, he was satisfied that engagement was necessary.
Then came the lock and load. The entire class has now hunkered down into a full safety position leaning forward; face down on desk, geography book on heads, ready for a full scale launch. Coach didn’t notice that small fact as his mind was clearly fixated on completing his mission of not teaching geography, but warfare.
Suddenly and in one smooth motion his hand comes down from his ear, with forefinger cocked back, and ammo loaded on the end of his thumb. This was it, the moment of attack. All defensive positions were secured. I lay with my head firmly imbedded in my desk praying that somehow it would misfire, or fall harmlessly to the ground.
But the flick was on, confirmed by a whizzing that undeniably was the sound of artillery rounds being fired. At this point I was happy that Coach had not mastered an automatic flinger that would reload and bombard us unmercifully.
Then we heard a thud and a bang of broken glass. We slowly rose up, everyone checking for signs of a direct hit on their person. All hands were on deck.
We looked toward Coach who was grinning ear to ear as one who was content with his assignment of the day. He had clearly hit his intended target, a picture of Mr. Havens our principal, hanging on the back wall, now lying scattered on the classroom floor.
I think Coach was trying to teach us in his own subtle way, you never know what life’s going to sling at you, so be prepared, sometimes it can be a booger!
Showing posts with label Humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Humor. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Walking Memory Lane- A Time of Reunion
Walking Memory Lane, Time of Reunion
1969-2009
The moment the last bell rung on May 29th, 1969 to now 40 years later seems all at once yesterday and vivid, yet distant and unattached like cells in my brain. August 29th, 2009 reunited classmates, who came from as far away as Japan to reminisce about old times, fun times, and the carefree days of our youth.
The reunion started with the meet and greet. The room was buzzing with smiles, hugs and old people. For a moment I thought I had stumbled upon Happy Trails To You Nursing Home. There was a table where we cashed in our tickets for wine, beer or other spirits but we had options on Geritol, Ex-Lax, Viagra with 4 hour warning label, or Grecian Formula at another table. Realizing I had entered into a production for a new reality show” Born to be Wild Baby Boomers Tire Easily” I quickly got past the denial stage of age and onto acceptance. Why waste time I grew old just standing there.
Reunions at this point in our lives spark fear and trepidation in some. Questions come to mind like, what if I don’t remember names, faces and do I measure up and most importantly can anyone see my Depends through my pants. None of us can see or hear at this age so recognition is quickly remedied by taking a quick peek at the name tag. Yes, I peeked while maintaining eye contact, while the other eye darted, scanned and uploaded the photo and name tag firmly attached to everyone’s chest into what’s left of my processing unit and matched it against the FBI’s most wanted list. This way, I appeared to be mentally intact with a brilliant memory and I think I fooled no one.
It’s easy to mis-associate at this level, like placing names with occupation or how you remember others. While shaking hands and speaking to a couple of classmates, Paula came up and made a gesture like she was playing an air guitar and said” Jeff, are you still playing music and do you still have a band?” “ I play some guitar but only to myself behind closed doors in a padded cell” I replied. She told everyone standing there, “I use to love to go and watch Jeff and his band play.” “It was so much fun” she continued. I thanked her for the kind comments about my music and band that I never had. It’s okay Paula, we will get you some help soon and thanks for the fantasy.
On the way to the rest room, I heard my name being called out behind me. Hearing voices at this age is a bad connotation. Most mass murderers claim they heard voices. I continued on but the voice wouldn’t leave me. Slowly I turned to look and I saw Richard waving at me to come over to his table. I first I thought he was swatting flies, but I ambled over to be safe. “Jeff, do you think Cabo is a good place to retire to?” he asked. “I’m trying to convince my new wife that it is” he continued. I’m nodding my head and pursing my lips and said “I’ve never been there, but I hear it’s great” I replied. “You are still in the travel business-- aren’t you?” he queried. “I was in the freight business for many years and long ago, but not the travel business” I replied. Sorry Richard, you’ve lost your first argument with your new wife but I think I can get you and Paula a group discount at The ‘Home.”
Men are lucky to live this long and never have to make a name change unless we convert to an Islamic Terrorist Organization and become jihadists. Being able to still pronounce names, most no more than 2 syllables like Bob, Jack, Ed, Sue, Gayle, Jim, Pat and Leslie is refreshing. Imagine that I changed my name to Akbar Said Mohammed Ephat- Try putting that on a name tag in small letters. Now along comes Paula imitating an explosive device saying, “Akbar- do you still blow things up?”
Women through divorce or death of a spouse may have 4-5 last names now. I think I saw this on a name tag. Linda (Jones, Smith, Woods, Brady, Martin____________) McNeil. I asked her what the blank was for after Martin and she said no sense in stopping now. I thought it was a brilliant retirement plan.
The DJ’s spun music of our time which I personally thought and still do was and is the best. White boys still can’t dance! When we were young we would get a bit intoxicated and relaxed and our brains would trick us into thinking we had soul. This would translate into our bodies through some metamorphic chemical mutation and make us bust out into” I feel good, like I knew I would” with all manner of jerking motions. Now, we don’t need intoxicants to convince us of this. We have less brain cells now competing for our bodies so while we still think we can bust out the moves; we can’t remember why we still can’t dance. It’s all good.
The time, as expected, passed quickly. In our younger years we would shut everything down and ask why everyone was leaving at 2:00 a.m. By 9:00 P.M. our spouses were in a complete coma of boredom, looking at their watches wondering when it was all going to end. By 10:00 P.M. we all had missed our bedtimes- As we departed there was still some Geritol, Ex- Lax, and Grecians Formula on the table, but there was a run on Viagra!
The world is much different now than as we knew it but maybe it’s a matter of perspective. When we were young we saw the possibilities before us not the dangers, nor the disappointments life dole’s out. We only saw the positive and us in it and how we would change things for the better. Have we succeeded? What has changed as a result of us being out there and does it matter? I submit that things have changed and it does matter in the sense we took our places, made our moves, immersed ourselves in whatever it was that drove us. In that effort we all made contributions to those around us regardless of how large or small we have made a difference. Hail to thee AHS class of 69.
1969-2009
The moment the last bell rung on May 29th, 1969 to now 40 years later seems all at once yesterday and vivid, yet distant and unattached like cells in my brain. August 29th, 2009 reunited classmates, who came from as far away as Japan to reminisce about old times, fun times, and the carefree days of our youth.
The reunion started with the meet and greet. The room was buzzing with smiles, hugs and old people. For a moment I thought I had stumbled upon Happy Trails To You Nursing Home. There was a table where we cashed in our tickets for wine, beer or other spirits but we had options on Geritol, Ex-Lax, Viagra with 4 hour warning label, or Grecian Formula at another table. Realizing I had entered into a production for a new reality show” Born to be Wild Baby Boomers Tire Easily” I quickly got past the denial stage of age and onto acceptance. Why waste time I grew old just standing there.
Reunions at this point in our lives spark fear and trepidation in some. Questions come to mind like, what if I don’t remember names, faces and do I measure up and most importantly can anyone see my Depends through my pants. None of us can see or hear at this age so recognition is quickly remedied by taking a quick peek at the name tag. Yes, I peeked while maintaining eye contact, while the other eye darted, scanned and uploaded the photo and name tag firmly attached to everyone’s chest into what’s left of my processing unit and matched it against the FBI’s most wanted list. This way, I appeared to be mentally intact with a brilliant memory and I think I fooled no one.
It’s easy to mis-associate at this level, like placing names with occupation or how you remember others. While shaking hands and speaking to a couple of classmates, Paula came up and made a gesture like she was playing an air guitar and said” Jeff, are you still playing music and do you still have a band?” “ I play some guitar but only to myself behind closed doors in a padded cell” I replied. She told everyone standing there, “I use to love to go and watch Jeff and his band play.” “It was so much fun” she continued. I thanked her for the kind comments about my music and band that I never had. It’s okay Paula, we will get you some help soon and thanks for the fantasy.
On the way to the rest room, I heard my name being called out behind me. Hearing voices at this age is a bad connotation. Most mass murderers claim they heard voices. I continued on but the voice wouldn’t leave me. Slowly I turned to look and I saw Richard waving at me to come over to his table. I first I thought he was swatting flies, but I ambled over to be safe. “Jeff, do you think Cabo is a good place to retire to?” he asked. “I’m trying to convince my new wife that it is” he continued. I’m nodding my head and pursing my lips and said “I’ve never been there, but I hear it’s great” I replied. “You are still in the travel business-- aren’t you?” he queried. “I was in the freight business for many years and long ago, but not the travel business” I replied. Sorry Richard, you’ve lost your first argument with your new wife but I think I can get you and Paula a group discount at The ‘Home.”
Men are lucky to live this long and never have to make a name change unless we convert to an Islamic Terrorist Organization and become jihadists. Being able to still pronounce names, most no more than 2 syllables like Bob, Jack, Ed, Sue, Gayle, Jim, Pat and Leslie is refreshing. Imagine that I changed my name to Akbar Said Mohammed Ephat- Try putting that on a name tag in small letters. Now along comes Paula imitating an explosive device saying, “Akbar- do you still blow things up?”
Women through divorce or death of a spouse may have 4-5 last names now. I think I saw this on a name tag. Linda (Jones, Smith, Woods, Brady, Martin____________) McNeil. I asked her what the blank was for after Martin and she said no sense in stopping now. I thought it was a brilliant retirement plan.
The DJ’s spun music of our time which I personally thought and still do was and is the best. White boys still can’t dance! When we were young we would get a bit intoxicated and relaxed and our brains would trick us into thinking we had soul. This would translate into our bodies through some metamorphic chemical mutation and make us bust out into” I feel good, like I knew I would” with all manner of jerking motions. Now, we don’t need intoxicants to convince us of this. We have less brain cells now competing for our bodies so while we still think we can bust out the moves; we can’t remember why we still can’t dance. It’s all good.
The time, as expected, passed quickly. In our younger years we would shut everything down and ask why everyone was leaving at 2:00 a.m. By 9:00 P.M. our spouses were in a complete coma of boredom, looking at their watches wondering when it was all going to end. By 10:00 P.M. we all had missed our bedtimes- As we departed there was still some Geritol, Ex- Lax, and Grecians Formula on the table, but there was a run on Viagra!
The world is much different now than as we knew it but maybe it’s a matter of perspective. When we were young we saw the possibilities before us not the dangers, nor the disappointments life dole’s out. We only saw the positive and us in it and how we would change things for the better. Have we succeeded? What has changed as a result of us being out there and does it matter? I submit that things have changed and it does matter in the sense we took our places, made our moves, immersed ourselves in whatever it was that drove us. In that effort we all made contributions to those around us regardless of how large or small we have made a difference. Hail to thee AHS class of 69.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Tale of Tales
Tale of Tales
When I think of the Grace of God, I must be in the top 10 of His examples. When I reflect on my 58 years and all the things I tried and that I’m still alive, only his Grace could be the answer.
I was raised in a family of 7 children so mischief was my middle name. It started early with me and matches. There was something about striking them and watching the glow. By the time I was 6 years old I was considering a career in arson or pyromania. I wasn’t content with striking them. It was more fun to set dry fields on fire around our house in Lafayette, Louisiana. One of my playmates across the street Cyndi who was my age was Bonnie to my Clyde. She loved to watch me set fires and I was eager to impress her with my fiery abilities. Until one day, I got caught. An especially dry field across the street and next to Cyndi’s house was set ablaze by a single match. Up until then, I was able to put small fires out by stomping on them before they got out of control. Not this time! A wind caught the flame and before we knew it a major fire had erupted. I tried putting it out with a garden hose from her house, but to no avail. I tried spitting, stomping, throwing rocks on it, but this day nothing worked. We both split the scene and before I knew it fire trucks could be heard with sirens blazing in the distance. Cyndi snitched on me to her mom, probably to save herself, and my mom prosecuted me seriously with a switch of my choice! They had nabbed me---
Figuring a career in arson and pyromania was not a wise choice, I embarked on my next move. My mom and dad put all of their cancelled checks in an ice cooler. Now, being a 6 year old, I didn’t know anything about economics or money. I thought those checks were cash, after all my parents used them to get whatever they wanted. So, late at night when they were asleep, I crept into the closet where they kept them. I reached in and grabbed a handful of checks thinking I had hit the jackpot. The next day I rode my bicycle down to the local Pak-A-Sac and proceeded to the checkout stand with candy, toys, soda’s bubble gum and pretty much everything else I wanted. The store clerk looking down upon me suspiciously rang them up and gave me the total. I pulled out my new found wealth and deposited them on the counter fully expecting to leave with my purchase. The clerk laughing told me that checks weren’t money and to put it all the goods back up. I didn’t understand. I still don’t!
Again, frustrated with the lack of career paths, I decided on my next move. My next door neighbor, Frankie was a year younger than me. Frankie was kind of a sissy so I could push him around. However I was afraid of his mom who always seemed to be yelling at him, FRANKIE!!! Frankie got an allowance of 50 cents a week and I didn’t get anything but whippings. This wasn’t right in my eyes. So, I thought extortion could be a career path. One day I caught Frankie outside away from his Frankenstein mother. I shoved him up against a wall under the carport and told him that if he didn’t give me his 50 cents I was going to beat him to a pulp. Since he was wimpy and I was older he readily gave in. Handing over the loot to me I told him if he told anyone there would be trouble. Thinking my career in extortion was off to a good start, I hurried to the Pac-A-Sac and redeemed my parents cancelled checks with extortion money from little Frankie and this time I left with some goods. By the time I got back home, my mom and Frankie’s mom were lying in wait and this time, mom had a finely tuned switch made of the finest Louisiana hardwoods waiting for me. Wop---- I’m still looking for you Frankie!
What’s a 6 year old suppose to do? Life was harsh and I couldn’t find my direction. One day, my older brother Mike and our next door neighbor Charlie invited me to tag alone. At the far end of the neighborhood was a small cattle ranch that raised Brahma bulls. There was an especially mean one. He was a huge black snort snottin bull that would happily end my life if he had a chance. He also had a reputation for being able to jump the barbed wire fence that kept him in. He didn’t like passer-bys, especially little rebel rousing kids like myself walking by and yelling at him. This day he would get his chance. I’ve been known to take a dare or two. Mike and Charlie dared me to get in the pasture with him. They told me that if I got in there and started laughing at the bull, that he would chase me. It sounded like fun to me and maybe this was the beginning of a new career in rodeo. I slowly crawled through the barb wire fence. Killer bull was on the other side of the field so I felt safe and was emboldened to run at him yelling, laughing, and waving my hands. As I looked back over my shoulder to show Mike and Charlie what a rustler I was all I saw was their backs as they had taken off running across the street, through another barb wire fence. I turned around and much to my surprise this snot roaring behemoth of a bull was on a dead run at me. The ground was shaking, dust was flying, birds were scattering and my little Louisiana ass was running for a nearby tree. Scampering up that tree next to a huge bayou filled with alligators and water moccasins as big as this bull, I plotted my next career path as I waited for the bull to give up on having me for lunch that day-----
To be continued----
When I think of the Grace of God, I must be in the top 10 of His examples. When I reflect on my 58 years and all the things I tried and that I’m still alive, only his Grace could be the answer.
I was raised in a family of 7 children so mischief was my middle name. It started early with me and matches. There was something about striking them and watching the glow. By the time I was 6 years old I was considering a career in arson or pyromania. I wasn’t content with striking them. It was more fun to set dry fields on fire around our house in Lafayette, Louisiana. One of my playmates across the street Cyndi who was my age was Bonnie to my Clyde. She loved to watch me set fires and I was eager to impress her with my fiery abilities. Until one day, I got caught. An especially dry field across the street and next to Cyndi’s house was set ablaze by a single match. Up until then, I was able to put small fires out by stomping on them before they got out of control. Not this time! A wind caught the flame and before we knew it a major fire had erupted. I tried putting it out with a garden hose from her house, but to no avail. I tried spitting, stomping, throwing rocks on it, but this day nothing worked. We both split the scene and before I knew it fire trucks could be heard with sirens blazing in the distance. Cyndi snitched on me to her mom, probably to save herself, and my mom prosecuted me seriously with a switch of my choice! They had nabbed me---
Figuring a career in arson and pyromania was not a wise choice, I embarked on my next move. My mom and dad put all of their cancelled checks in an ice cooler. Now, being a 6 year old, I didn’t know anything about economics or money. I thought those checks were cash, after all my parents used them to get whatever they wanted. So, late at night when they were asleep, I crept into the closet where they kept them. I reached in and grabbed a handful of checks thinking I had hit the jackpot. The next day I rode my bicycle down to the local Pak-A-Sac and proceeded to the checkout stand with candy, toys, soda’s bubble gum and pretty much everything else I wanted. The store clerk looking down upon me suspiciously rang them up and gave me the total. I pulled out my new found wealth and deposited them on the counter fully expecting to leave with my purchase. The clerk laughing told me that checks weren’t money and to put it all the goods back up. I didn’t understand. I still don’t!
Again, frustrated with the lack of career paths, I decided on my next move. My next door neighbor, Frankie was a year younger than me. Frankie was kind of a sissy so I could push him around. However I was afraid of his mom who always seemed to be yelling at him, FRANKIE!!! Frankie got an allowance of 50 cents a week and I didn’t get anything but whippings. This wasn’t right in my eyes. So, I thought extortion could be a career path. One day I caught Frankie outside away from his Frankenstein mother. I shoved him up against a wall under the carport and told him that if he didn’t give me his 50 cents I was going to beat him to a pulp. Since he was wimpy and I was older he readily gave in. Handing over the loot to me I told him if he told anyone there would be trouble. Thinking my career in extortion was off to a good start, I hurried to the Pac-A-Sac and redeemed my parents cancelled checks with extortion money from little Frankie and this time I left with some goods. By the time I got back home, my mom and Frankie’s mom were lying in wait and this time, mom had a finely tuned switch made of the finest Louisiana hardwoods waiting for me. Wop---- I’m still looking for you Frankie!
What’s a 6 year old suppose to do? Life was harsh and I couldn’t find my direction. One day, my older brother Mike and our next door neighbor Charlie invited me to tag alone. At the far end of the neighborhood was a small cattle ranch that raised Brahma bulls. There was an especially mean one. He was a huge black snort snottin bull that would happily end my life if he had a chance. He also had a reputation for being able to jump the barbed wire fence that kept him in. He didn’t like passer-bys, especially little rebel rousing kids like myself walking by and yelling at him. This day he would get his chance. I’ve been known to take a dare or two. Mike and Charlie dared me to get in the pasture with him. They told me that if I got in there and started laughing at the bull, that he would chase me. It sounded like fun to me and maybe this was the beginning of a new career in rodeo. I slowly crawled through the barb wire fence. Killer bull was on the other side of the field so I felt safe and was emboldened to run at him yelling, laughing, and waving my hands. As I looked back over my shoulder to show Mike and Charlie what a rustler I was all I saw was their backs as they had taken off running across the street, through another barb wire fence. I turned around and much to my surprise this snot roaring behemoth of a bull was on a dead run at me. The ground was shaking, dust was flying, birds were scattering and my little Louisiana ass was running for a nearby tree. Scampering up that tree next to a huge bayou filled with alligators and water moccasins as big as this bull, I plotted my next career path as I waited for the bull to give up on having me for lunch that day-----
To be continued----
Monday, August 3, 2009
Staying Healthy-I Think
Staying Healthy-I Think
I recently read an article that said eating fish may ward off dementia--- but I forgot where I put it. If I remember correctly though, it pointed to new evidence that a diet rich in fish, could solve the world’s supply of old people in Florida. This is groundbreaking news. Florida is the capital of dementia as evidenced by the recent real estate boom of buying cheap and going into foreclosure.
This study was done on older people in Asia and Latin America in Miami, Florida. This hypothesis was carried out by The National Brotherhood of Crab Fisherman who carried older Asians and Latino’s on long and unproductive fishing expeditions in the North Sea of Cuba. If they survived the trip they got to live. If they didn’t then it would prove that they didn’t eat enough fish and most likely dined on crabs and puked their internal organs up. This study was funded by a grant from The Fool Taxpayers in America Campaign and sanctioned by The World Federation of Wasting More Money Society.
The study proved that 20% of those who consumed more fish got fatter, grew gills and could swim faster than those that didn’t. The 20% increase in consumption spiked fish futures on Wall Street causing wide spread panic among traders. This drove up prices on speculation that 80% of the test subjects haven’t bought fish yet. The other 80% who didn’t consume more fish, bought stocks short, causing a massive sell off. The Obama administration stepped in under the Freedom for Fish Act and appointed a fish czar to oversee the smell on Wall Street.
The article also cited” that those who ate fish nearly every day of the week were almost 20% less likely to develop dementia than those who ate fish a few times a week.” I’m going to have to Forrest Gump you on that one. I’m not a smart man but momma always told me that there wasn’t any difference between “nearly every day and a few times a week.” Higher mathematics these days!
A comparative study done on “red” meat showed that those who ingested mass quantities of steaks were more likely to have dementia. They were more likely to ride in rodeos, drink beer, forget who they were, shoot guns at people, live in Texas and generally not give a crap-ola about eating fish. I’m sure if they just ate meat and not “red” meat their dementia could at least be pro- longed until after the week end was over.
Now, fish will come with a warning label- “eating this product could cause you to never forget anything your mother-in-law says”------ thus sending meat futures in a stampede on Wall Street.
I recently read an article that said eating fish may ward off dementia--- but I forgot where I put it. If I remember correctly though, it pointed to new evidence that a diet rich in fish, could solve the world’s supply of old people in Florida. This is groundbreaking news. Florida is the capital of dementia as evidenced by the recent real estate boom of buying cheap and going into foreclosure.
This study was done on older people in Asia and Latin America in Miami, Florida. This hypothesis was carried out by The National Brotherhood of Crab Fisherman who carried older Asians and Latino’s on long and unproductive fishing expeditions in the North Sea of Cuba. If they survived the trip they got to live. If they didn’t then it would prove that they didn’t eat enough fish and most likely dined on crabs and puked their internal organs up. This study was funded by a grant from The Fool Taxpayers in America Campaign and sanctioned by The World Federation of Wasting More Money Society.
The study proved that 20% of those who consumed more fish got fatter, grew gills and could swim faster than those that didn’t. The 20% increase in consumption spiked fish futures on Wall Street causing wide spread panic among traders. This drove up prices on speculation that 80% of the test subjects haven’t bought fish yet. The other 80% who didn’t consume more fish, bought stocks short, causing a massive sell off. The Obama administration stepped in under the Freedom for Fish Act and appointed a fish czar to oversee the smell on Wall Street.
The article also cited” that those who ate fish nearly every day of the week were almost 20% less likely to develop dementia than those who ate fish a few times a week.” I’m going to have to Forrest Gump you on that one. I’m not a smart man but momma always told me that there wasn’t any difference between “nearly every day and a few times a week.” Higher mathematics these days!
A comparative study done on “red” meat showed that those who ingested mass quantities of steaks were more likely to have dementia. They were more likely to ride in rodeos, drink beer, forget who they were, shoot guns at people, live in Texas and generally not give a crap-ola about eating fish. I’m sure if they just ate meat and not “red” meat their dementia could at least be pro- longed until after the week end was over.
Now, fish will come with a warning label- “eating this product could cause you to never forget anything your mother-in-law says”------ thus sending meat futures in a stampede on Wall Street.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Alternative Fuel & Entreprenuership
Alternative Fuel & Entrepreneurship
America is too dependent on foreign fuel sources and to break this dependency America needs forward thinking individuals who can solve this mounting problem. Bureaucratic government and political candidates love to use this problem during election cycles as a means to convince the VOTING public that they can solve it if only elected to office.
The latest buzz is GREEN. Everything must be green, which is code for earth friendly carbon foot- stepping. Only the brazen idiots in DC could allow such nonsense to pervade the voting psyche. What they really mean is green as in CASH. Yes, I know it’s difficult to believe, that politicians would actually try to make a buck off it. I’m sure none of them own any stock, or sit on any boards of companies that are now racing with wreck less abandon to discover, innovate, develop and produce the great green machine that would sever America’s dependence on foreign oil sources. Why that would be a conflict of interest and we all know politicians only are there to serve the public’s interest—Uh Huh.
Well, not to fear America, I have discovered the answer and it’s simple, it’s cheap depending on where you buy it from, it’s plentiful, organic, and green and it comes in various options. No politician has gotten slimy enough YET to know about this, but there is hope and I’m sure if they get wind of this, Bernie Madoff will be pardoned so he can develop a myriad of pyramid schemes and call them investments.
It’s the bean burrito with rice. Yes, I know you are as astonished as I am but you must trust me, because I come from a long line of entrepreneurs at the unemployment office and folks like us are always keeping our nose to the ground in search of the untapped, niche business to make it big. My dad, his dad, his dads dad, here a dad, there a dad, everywhere a dad, (Kind of catchy don’t you think) were all entrepreneurs all the way back to the beginning, wherever that was, I think in a garden somewhere in Eve. I think that is in the middle of the east somewhere over in the land of Allah. I could have my facts right on this but don’t check it out.
A plain bean burrito with rice is just a regular unleaded burrito and only will get you so far. It’s guaranteed to clog you up a bit. If you throw on some cheese, lettuce and tomato, now you have premium unleaded and that will make your vehicle run smoother without all of the knocks and pings. I know this is true because I saw it on TV but don’t ask me when. I think I read about it also in Sports Illustrated next to a Gatorade commercial, so you know its true- really. However, and this is most important, the government hasn’t regulated and taxed it yet and tagged it with spurious warning levels with skull and crossbones letting us know they are watching out for us. Wow, I sleep better now and all this time I thought it was my new pillow.
Lastly, there is Super Duper Premium Unleaded Bean Burrito with the works including Phi Jamma Lamma Salsa. This is the highest of octane ratings and is the ultimate Mt. Everest of burritos that is guaranteed to have a radioactive half life of 1000 years once it has been produced, refined, turned into various propulsion and non-propulsion purposes like peeling paint from the inside of your car, or cleaning your dog without bathing them, or emitting a colorless gas that is surely to take your neighbors by surprise especially the ones you don’t like, which is most of them. This stuff is so potent that I could sell it to Nasa to power the next launch to discover life on Mars on one fill up, then we will know where we came from, a micro-organism buried hundreds of miles deep in ice under the Martian landscape. And I thought we were created. Where was I during classes on evolution of the species? Wasn’t that the class I took in World History?
Of course having the natural resources that will solve oil dependency is nothing and I mean absolutely nothing without a processing plant that can convert a bean burrito with rice and various condiments into useful fuel and household products like arsenic.
So this new and revolutionary idea requires a fully functional processing plant with refining capabilities. This is where the entrepreneurship bit comes in handy. It’s times like these and ideas like this to put people back to work and out of the unemployment line. Just think how many people could benefit from this. I can’t.
I have discovered by accident a standalone processing plant with refining capabilities and if I can figure this all out by midnight tonight, I could put a patent on it and begin production immediately, like tomorrow morning, after coffee of course and maybe a couple strips of bacon. I like donuts also but last I checked the cops had patents pending.
My discovery is only 4 feet tall, lightweight for a production processing plant at 90 pounds and is totally portable. My nine year grandson Matt can inhale maximum quantities of bean burritos and in approximately 12- 24 hours can produce gas non-stop for a minimum of 2 days. I timed it, but with my gas mask on, of course. He is a one man show. Shovel burritos in, get gas out. I can’t figure out how to put handles on him or a hose for dispensing properly but if I stand him out in the yard when he “feels” one firing up and he’s not howling at the moon, it’s amazing how green the grass will turn-instantly. Beano and Gas X are no match for this amazing find. I think I could even solve the Cap and Trade Energy thing going on butt that’s for another day, cause my wife’s telling me to get off the computer.
America is too dependent on foreign fuel sources and to break this dependency America needs forward thinking individuals who can solve this mounting problem. Bureaucratic government and political candidates love to use this problem during election cycles as a means to convince the VOTING public that they can solve it if only elected to office.
The latest buzz is GREEN. Everything must be green, which is code for earth friendly carbon foot- stepping. Only the brazen idiots in DC could allow such nonsense to pervade the voting psyche. What they really mean is green as in CASH. Yes, I know it’s difficult to believe, that politicians would actually try to make a buck off it. I’m sure none of them own any stock, or sit on any boards of companies that are now racing with wreck less abandon to discover, innovate, develop and produce the great green machine that would sever America’s dependence on foreign oil sources. Why that would be a conflict of interest and we all know politicians only are there to serve the public’s interest—Uh Huh.
Well, not to fear America, I have discovered the answer and it’s simple, it’s cheap depending on where you buy it from, it’s plentiful, organic, and green and it comes in various options. No politician has gotten slimy enough YET to know about this, but there is hope and I’m sure if they get wind of this, Bernie Madoff will be pardoned so he can develop a myriad of pyramid schemes and call them investments.
It’s the bean burrito with rice. Yes, I know you are as astonished as I am but you must trust me, because I come from a long line of entrepreneurs at the unemployment office and folks like us are always keeping our nose to the ground in search of the untapped, niche business to make it big. My dad, his dad, his dads dad, here a dad, there a dad, everywhere a dad, (Kind of catchy don’t you think) were all entrepreneurs all the way back to the beginning, wherever that was, I think in a garden somewhere in Eve. I think that is in the middle of the east somewhere over in the land of Allah. I could have my facts right on this but don’t check it out.
A plain bean burrito with rice is just a regular unleaded burrito and only will get you so far. It’s guaranteed to clog you up a bit. If you throw on some cheese, lettuce and tomato, now you have premium unleaded and that will make your vehicle run smoother without all of the knocks and pings. I know this is true because I saw it on TV but don’t ask me when. I think I read about it also in Sports Illustrated next to a Gatorade commercial, so you know its true- really. However, and this is most important, the government hasn’t regulated and taxed it yet and tagged it with spurious warning levels with skull and crossbones letting us know they are watching out for us. Wow, I sleep better now and all this time I thought it was my new pillow.
Lastly, there is Super Duper Premium Unleaded Bean Burrito with the works including Phi Jamma Lamma Salsa. This is the highest of octane ratings and is the ultimate Mt. Everest of burritos that is guaranteed to have a radioactive half life of 1000 years once it has been produced, refined, turned into various propulsion and non-propulsion purposes like peeling paint from the inside of your car, or cleaning your dog without bathing them, or emitting a colorless gas that is surely to take your neighbors by surprise especially the ones you don’t like, which is most of them. This stuff is so potent that I could sell it to Nasa to power the next launch to discover life on Mars on one fill up, then we will know where we came from, a micro-organism buried hundreds of miles deep in ice under the Martian landscape. And I thought we were created. Where was I during classes on evolution of the species? Wasn’t that the class I took in World History?
Of course having the natural resources that will solve oil dependency is nothing and I mean absolutely nothing without a processing plant that can convert a bean burrito with rice and various condiments into useful fuel and household products like arsenic.
So this new and revolutionary idea requires a fully functional processing plant with refining capabilities. This is where the entrepreneurship bit comes in handy. It’s times like these and ideas like this to put people back to work and out of the unemployment line. Just think how many people could benefit from this. I can’t.
I have discovered by accident a standalone processing plant with refining capabilities and if I can figure this all out by midnight tonight, I could put a patent on it and begin production immediately, like tomorrow morning, after coffee of course and maybe a couple strips of bacon. I like donuts also but last I checked the cops had patents pending.
My discovery is only 4 feet tall, lightweight for a production processing plant at 90 pounds and is totally portable. My nine year grandson Matt can inhale maximum quantities of bean burritos and in approximately 12- 24 hours can produce gas non-stop for a minimum of 2 days. I timed it, but with my gas mask on, of course. He is a one man show. Shovel burritos in, get gas out. I can’t figure out how to put handles on him or a hose for dispensing properly but if I stand him out in the yard when he “feels” one firing up and he’s not howling at the moon, it’s amazing how green the grass will turn-instantly. Beano and Gas X are no match for this amazing find. I think I could even solve the Cap and Trade Energy thing going on butt that’s for another day, cause my wife’s telling me to get off the computer.
The Magical Kingdom
The Magical Kingdom
Four years ago I flew my Arkansas grandkids, Matt and Ally and my daughter Heather from my first marriage to Cape Coral, Florida where we lived at the time. This was the first time they have flown and I was naturally concerned for them. After all, flapping your arms for 1200 miles can be fairly challenging. The flight went well and they all enjoyed it and were beaming like headlights on bright as they came off the plane. They have never been to Disney World so we decided to make the 3 hour trek to Orlando for some magical kingdom fun. The grandkids were so excited and could hardly contain themselves. We sang songs, like M- I –C K- E-Y MOUSE and I did my best impression of Donald Duck. Somewhat unintelligible garb, but if it sounds like a duck it must be a duck. However I think I like Goofy the best-- I can identify with his Dum de Dum way of it all. In the back of my mind, I could see him telling Clark W. Griswold, “Sorry folk’s parks closed” after a cross country trek to Wally World. Upon arriving, I pulled my truck into the parking space, put her in park and we all bailed out. The kids had ants in their pants or maybe they just had to use the bathroom. Off in the distance I could sense the crescendo of the day building as the looming tower of the Magical Kingdom beckoned kids everywhere to a fun filled day of fantasy--- and parents with pocketbooks. We hopped onto a tram that took us to the front gate where the real magic began, that of lifting some serious coin from my pockets. After taking out a mortgage at the window to gain entrance we entered into the twilight zone---Uhh-- I meant the magical kingdom. After the kids found the first bathroom, (wasn’t ants after all) and completed that mission, we followed the rest of the swelling multitudes of munchkins to a gigantic ferry. The ferry reminded me of the ones you think about in old Mark Twain stories like Huckleberry Finn, paddle wheels and all except this one was wider than the Mississippi River. Well, we boarded the ferry and went up on the top deck and to the front and there it was. Across the lake the mirage of magic, the temptress and seducer of fantastical delight, chimed her silent illusion. As we got closer, Matt busted out into one of his white kids can’t dance moves in excitement. Ally, looked at him laughing heartily and thinking with cocked brow “and you’re my brother?” The ferry gently pulled into its mooring and once stopped the kingdom shuffle began. As we stepped dockside and moved through the pearly gates, Goofy met us with a “Howdy Folks” and a high five. Yep, today was going to be a day of memory building that Matt and Ally would never forget. The smell of hot dogs, cotton candy mixed with the intense Florida sun, made me want to find the nearest tavern that served up adult beverages--! Oops, this is about the kids. Disney characters were everywhere and little street plays and singing filled the air with such surreal delight. Little kids tugging and pulling on Mickey and Minnie Mouse not knowing someone was on the inside. I thought and wondered what the kids on the inside of those Disney suits were thinking as they tried to “nicely” shake off the little ones wrapped around their ankles. “Why you little brat, if I could I would drag you through the streets, how’s that for some magic? “ “They don’t call me Goofy for nothing.” Oops, there I go again, back to the story. Once we got past the entrance, we quickly picked up a map, compass, and GPS device, infrared night vision goggles just to be safe. After all, the enormity of this magical tour would surely immerse us into paths unknown as we meandered through to find the perfect ride, show and entertainment. Since Matt was 5 and Ally 8 at the time, zeroing in on age appropriate rides was paramount. Also, I must confess, I’m not one who calls fun, getting my insides thoroughly shaken, not stirred, a highlight of the day. Watching others on theses rides, being inverted, dropped, looped, spun all at the speed of light and all within an inch of their lives, reinforced my opinion that Walt Disney was a masochist and only hired engineers that were. However, I take delight in watching the expressions on people’s faces as they whiz by me and yell- OH GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!. There seems to be an abundance of religion on those rides and I’m sure many promises are made to God, like” If you let me live through this, I promise, really, really, I will be a missionary in New Delhi.” Umm-huh. The next 8 hours were spent, hustling from one ride to the next or one show time to the next. In between, thunder showers rolled through providing a much needed relief from the heat and a brief respite from delight. As the day worn on so did the hunger and this is where phase 2 of what I call the “magical lift” takes hold. The illusion is fun the reality is money! Now, I’m not a penny –pincher, but will someone tell me why a plain hotdog cost $5 and that I should wait 30 minutes to get it and be happy? Not to mention I have to place the order to someone who just landed in America and has no clue that English is the primary language or thank you is a common courtesy. Okay, so I’m not politically correct but that’s for another day. After getting soaked again in the pocketbook, despite the rain that had already claimed that right, we trudged on. Despite it all, the smiles and time together with Matt and Ally was priceless, what dollar amount could I possibly put on it?--- I’m thinking, I’m thinking---- The day ended on a good note as we watched the end of the day presentation at THE Magical Kingdom. It was the crowning glory, surely to imbed into Matt and Ally’s mind a fun time with their wacky papa in Florida. Hold on- this is not the end. As we began our descent back into the world of reality and began our walk back to the ferry, I reached into my pockets for my keys. Searching vainly, but none were found. I asked Heather if I had give them to her and she dug down into the deep recesses of her purse where I dare not tread and came up empty handed. No worry, I thought, I probably dropped them and someone would take them to lost and found. This is America, and most people want to help others. I know this because I watched several Americans step over numerous bodies laid waste in line while waiting for their turn on the ride of all rides, the cup and saucer! After all, aside from keys to my truck, home, office, safe deposit box, credit cards authorizations passwords, bank accounts( no problem there, it was magically drained that day!), bar coded grocery store tags, and such, I assumed they would be of no importance to anyone. As we got to the front gate, we went into the lost and found and no one had turned them in. Assuming that I had locked them in my truck in all the excitement, the lady called a locksmith for me, so I knew even at the end I was going to pay dearly. She assured me this happens all the time as to assuage my feelings of being an IDIOT, or at least that’s the look she gave me while smiling brightly and cheerfully. I gave her my parking area number and the locksmith said he knew it well and that he would meet us there. Now, I’m thinking we are going to be in the parking lot waiting for 4 hours or more. It takes about 30 minutes to get back there once we left the pearly gates. After hopping off the tram that got us to the parking lot, I quickened my pace to my truck. I jumped up on the running boards to pull myself up to see if the keys were in the ignition and at the same time I grab the door handle. Surprisingly, the door opened and a rush of cold air met me. Stunned, I realized I had indeed left my keys in the truck, in the ignition, with the truck running! Yep, in all the excitement, for 8 hours I left the truck running, doors unlocked, and a half a tank of gas. The only thing that was missing was a big sign on the tailgate that read, “Please take my truck, have fun, pick me up at 5.” Signed –IDIOT! Reeling backwards, with laughter and shaking my head while Matt, Ally and Heather broke down in hysterics, the locksmith pulls up behind me. Shaking my head and impressed that he arrived at the same time I did, I could barely say to him what I had done, still in disbelief at my senior moment. I casually walked up to his truck and explained what had happened and he didn’t crack a smile. I wasn’t sure whether he was reaching for a crow bar because of his wasted trip and his desire to maybe inflict some bodily harm, or just thinking” What an idiot!” This is where the best magic of all occurred. He said he sees it all the time, except MOST people just lock their keys in the car, NOT RUNNING. I asked him how much I owed him for his wasted time, prepared to fork over the full amount and he said- No charge- nada, zilch--. I’m thinking he’s got a story to tell others and that alone was payment enough. However, I told him that I couldn’t accept his kind gesture and he finally said $20. I gave him $40 and to me that was the best bargain of the day. So I guess at the end of the day and as I pondered it all over on the way back home, I thought after all maybe---- just maybe the kingdom has some magic even for me.
Four years ago I flew my Arkansas grandkids, Matt and Ally and my daughter Heather from my first marriage to Cape Coral, Florida where we lived at the time. This was the first time they have flown and I was naturally concerned for them. After all, flapping your arms for 1200 miles can be fairly challenging. The flight went well and they all enjoyed it and were beaming like headlights on bright as they came off the plane. They have never been to Disney World so we decided to make the 3 hour trek to Orlando for some magical kingdom fun. The grandkids were so excited and could hardly contain themselves. We sang songs, like M- I –C K- E-Y MOUSE and I did my best impression of Donald Duck. Somewhat unintelligible garb, but if it sounds like a duck it must be a duck. However I think I like Goofy the best-- I can identify with his Dum de Dum way of it all. In the back of my mind, I could see him telling Clark W. Griswold, “Sorry folk’s parks closed” after a cross country trek to Wally World. Upon arriving, I pulled my truck into the parking space, put her in park and we all bailed out. The kids had ants in their pants or maybe they just had to use the bathroom. Off in the distance I could sense the crescendo of the day building as the looming tower of the Magical Kingdom beckoned kids everywhere to a fun filled day of fantasy--- and parents with pocketbooks. We hopped onto a tram that took us to the front gate where the real magic began, that of lifting some serious coin from my pockets. After taking out a mortgage at the window to gain entrance we entered into the twilight zone---Uhh-- I meant the magical kingdom. After the kids found the first bathroom, (wasn’t ants after all) and completed that mission, we followed the rest of the swelling multitudes of munchkins to a gigantic ferry. The ferry reminded me of the ones you think about in old Mark Twain stories like Huckleberry Finn, paddle wheels and all except this one was wider than the Mississippi River. Well, we boarded the ferry and went up on the top deck and to the front and there it was. Across the lake the mirage of magic, the temptress and seducer of fantastical delight, chimed her silent illusion. As we got closer, Matt busted out into one of his white kids can’t dance moves in excitement. Ally, looked at him laughing heartily and thinking with cocked brow “and you’re my brother?” The ferry gently pulled into its mooring and once stopped the kingdom shuffle began. As we stepped dockside and moved through the pearly gates, Goofy met us with a “Howdy Folks” and a high five. Yep, today was going to be a day of memory building that Matt and Ally would never forget. The smell of hot dogs, cotton candy mixed with the intense Florida sun, made me want to find the nearest tavern that served up adult beverages--! Oops, this is about the kids. Disney characters were everywhere and little street plays and singing filled the air with such surreal delight. Little kids tugging and pulling on Mickey and Minnie Mouse not knowing someone was on the inside. I thought and wondered what the kids on the inside of those Disney suits were thinking as they tried to “nicely” shake off the little ones wrapped around their ankles. “Why you little brat, if I could I would drag you through the streets, how’s that for some magic? “ “They don’t call me Goofy for nothing.” Oops, there I go again, back to the story. Once we got past the entrance, we quickly picked up a map, compass, and GPS device, infrared night vision goggles just to be safe. After all, the enormity of this magical tour would surely immerse us into paths unknown as we meandered through to find the perfect ride, show and entertainment. Since Matt was 5 and Ally 8 at the time, zeroing in on age appropriate rides was paramount. Also, I must confess, I’m not one who calls fun, getting my insides thoroughly shaken, not stirred, a highlight of the day. Watching others on theses rides, being inverted, dropped, looped, spun all at the speed of light and all within an inch of their lives, reinforced my opinion that Walt Disney was a masochist and only hired engineers that were. However, I take delight in watching the expressions on people’s faces as they whiz by me and yell- OH GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!. There seems to be an abundance of religion on those rides and I’m sure many promises are made to God, like” If you let me live through this, I promise, really, really, I will be a missionary in New Delhi.” Umm-huh. The next 8 hours were spent, hustling from one ride to the next or one show time to the next. In between, thunder showers rolled through providing a much needed relief from the heat and a brief respite from delight. As the day worn on so did the hunger and this is where phase 2 of what I call the “magical lift” takes hold. The illusion is fun the reality is money! Now, I’m not a penny –pincher, but will someone tell me why a plain hotdog cost $5 and that I should wait 30 minutes to get it and be happy? Not to mention I have to place the order to someone who just landed in America and has no clue that English is the primary language or thank you is a common courtesy. Okay, so I’m not politically correct but that’s for another day. After getting soaked again in the pocketbook, despite the rain that had already claimed that right, we trudged on. Despite it all, the smiles and time together with Matt and Ally was priceless, what dollar amount could I possibly put on it?--- I’m thinking, I’m thinking---- The day ended on a good note as we watched the end of the day presentation at THE Magical Kingdom. It was the crowning glory, surely to imbed into Matt and Ally’s mind a fun time with their wacky papa in Florida. Hold on- this is not the end. As we began our descent back into the world of reality and began our walk back to the ferry, I reached into my pockets for my keys. Searching vainly, but none were found. I asked Heather if I had give them to her and she dug down into the deep recesses of her purse where I dare not tread and came up empty handed. No worry, I thought, I probably dropped them and someone would take them to lost and found. This is America, and most people want to help others. I know this because I watched several Americans step over numerous bodies laid waste in line while waiting for their turn on the ride of all rides, the cup and saucer! After all, aside from keys to my truck, home, office, safe deposit box, credit cards authorizations passwords, bank accounts( no problem there, it was magically drained that day!), bar coded grocery store tags, and such, I assumed they would be of no importance to anyone. As we got to the front gate, we went into the lost and found and no one had turned them in. Assuming that I had locked them in my truck in all the excitement, the lady called a locksmith for me, so I knew even at the end I was going to pay dearly. She assured me this happens all the time as to assuage my feelings of being an IDIOT, or at least that’s the look she gave me while smiling brightly and cheerfully. I gave her my parking area number and the locksmith said he knew it well and that he would meet us there. Now, I’m thinking we are going to be in the parking lot waiting for 4 hours or more. It takes about 30 minutes to get back there once we left the pearly gates. After hopping off the tram that got us to the parking lot, I quickened my pace to my truck. I jumped up on the running boards to pull myself up to see if the keys were in the ignition and at the same time I grab the door handle. Surprisingly, the door opened and a rush of cold air met me. Stunned, I realized I had indeed left my keys in the truck, in the ignition, with the truck running! Yep, in all the excitement, for 8 hours I left the truck running, doors unlocked, and a half a tank of gas. The only thing that was missing was a big sign on the tailgate that read, “Please take my truck, have fun, pick me up at 5.” Signed –IDIOT! Reeling backwards, with laughter and shaking my head while Matt, Ally and Heather broke down in hysterics, the locksmith pulls up behind me. Shaking my head and impressed that he arrived at the same time I did, I could barely say to him what I had done, still in disbelief at my senior moment. I casually walked up to his truck and explained what had happened and he didn’t crack a smile. I wasn’t sure whether he was reaching for a crow bar because of his wasted trip and his desire to maybe inflict some bodily harm, or just thinking” What an idiot!” This is where the best magic of all occurred. He said he sees it all the time, except MOST people just lock their keys in the car, NOT RUNNING. I asked him how much I owed him for his wasted time, prepared to fork over the full amount and he said- No charge- nada, zilch--. I’m thinking he’s got a story to tell others and that alone was payment enough. However, I told him that I couldn’t accept his kind gesture and he finally said $20. I gave him $40 and to me that was the best bargain of the day. So I guess at the end of the day and as I pondered it all over on the way back home, I thought after all maybe---- just maybe the kingdom has some magic even for me.
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