Tuesday, July 30, 2013

My Dog Needs a Bun!

Since I google everything now I thought, "why not look and see if there's any real reason why hot dogs come 10 to a pack and buns only 8."  I got lots of hits but no reasons, just some semi snarky answers.

Even though this mismatch has been a fact of life for a long time, that is no reason for us consumers to put up with it any longer.  Sure I know it is no big deal.  Everyone gets the munchies and grabbing a raw dog and wolfing it down...well, there's no bun anyway so why let it lay there in the fridge?  It is just begging to be eaten.

The thing is we really would like to have 10 buns but we make do.  We can't do this anymore because, folks, it is a slippery slope!  Next thing you know, they'll be making gloves with nine fingers.  How do I know this?  I've been listening to the voices in my head!  And they tell me that Corporate America is an expert advertiser.  He will say the next great thing is NineFinger gloves!  And start going on about how great it would be to have your index finger free.  He'll say, "think of the things you can do with that free finger."  Why, you could even pick your nose if you wanted!

You might be wondering why Corporate America would choose booger picking as an advertising gimmick over say, tick picking or some other thing.  The voices in my head (sorry, Andrew) explained this to me.  It is not enough for American industry to save material.  The real money is in a new product.  They have invented the Booger Bag which they will make out of the unused finger material.  Yes they will need a bit more material but they can kill naugas* for that.

You get a big old itchy booger and you simply can't wait until you get to a restroom?  No problem!  Just extract said booger and deposit in the Booger Bag.  "Ewww," you say, "that booger bag would get nasty."  Precisely and here is the beauty of the plan.  Not only will Corporate America sell you a pair of gloves and a booger bag, they will also sell you Booger Bag inserts!  And wet wipes to tidy up with!  Money, money, money!  Folks it is virtually a gold mine.

See?  See what can happen from slippery slopeness?  I urge you to put those buns back on the shelf and JUST SAY NO!

*where naugahide comes from

Monday, July 29, 2013

Stuff About Chickens

In my previous blog I mentioned that I was something of an expert on how baby chicks look.  Not only that but stated it was a story for another day.  It's another day.

When my wife and I were very young, there were few good jobs in this area.  Broiler houses - buildings designed and built specifically to raise broiler chickens - became a popular way for people in rural areas to earn extra money.  When I say designed I'm not talking about some high falutin, engineered building.  It was simply a narrow, long building anywhere between 200 and 500 feet in length with a tin roof and tin on the each side about half way up.  The rest of the wall was covered with chicken wire and had "curtains" that rolled up and down.  You can imagine these curtains, which were winched up and down, were a pain.  They would sag, the cable would break, it was always something...

Because, of course you had to always worry about adjusting the curtains once the chicks began to grow.  Rain, heat, cold, too much ammonia buildup (yes, all that poop generated lots of ammonia), required an adjustment in curtain height.

We had two chicken houses and a batch of baby chicks was 28,000.  For the first few days, even in Summer you had to have the gas brooders (large heating disks) on.  It was a sight to see though.  Looking down a 400 foot long house, it looked like a sea of furry yellow mats undulating softly.

Unfortunately, there was not a lot of time to get all poetic and artsy.  There was work to be done.  Feeding and watering 28,000 chicks is a job!  Also you had the unpleasant task of picking up the dead, killing the ones with deformed beaks, extra legs, etc, (sorry if this is grossing some of you out - wasn't sure how much detail to include).

But soon the chicks were big enough to eat and drink from the automatic equipment and life got much easier.  At about 4 weeks you began seeing victims of heart attack which everyone said was a good sign.  I never made the correlation in pay but I'll have to tell the truth here and say I was no great shakes as a chicken farmer.  It was a hard truth to face but I've learned to cope with being a failure at some endeavors.

At various times the chicken doctor would show up and bitch.  I hadn't put enough saw dust down before the chicks were delivered.  Now he tells me!  The chickens were too hot or the chickens were too cold or they were sick.  Anything else Doc?  Should I move my bed out here?

At seven to eight weeks, the chicken doctor would notify us when the chickens were to be caught.  Thank God!  At least we had no part in this other than raising all of the equipment in the houses.  Big trucks and a fork lift and the chicken catchers would show up.

I have a cousin who grew up in town.  Whenever he visited my Grandmother's house, he would chase her chickens, much to Grandma's chagrin.   This went on for quite sometime and even though he got some spankings (I think) for it, he didn't stop until he was older.  But even he did not grow up to become a chicken catcher.  Study diligently children.  There are some hideous jobs in this world.

In a couple weeks we would get a check along with a list of 20 growers and our rating.  Number 13 - wow!  Not bad and at least we weren't in the last four.  That meant you were probably on the elimination list...

After a couple years I got a job that paid decent money and we got out of that fowl business.  There's a saying...what goes around comes around...I was never sure exactly what that meant but what the heck are those fowl doing downstairs?

Friday, July 26, 2013

chirp, chirp, chirp

NOTE:  I have published a new page on my Junk Drawer blog.  It's an old joke in case you want to check it out.

I've been listening to this for awhile now.  Thought I would share.

Actually this was yesterday and they chirped, or at least one did, for maybe 3 to 4 hours.  Since then it's been sounds reminding me of those that adult guineas make but in baby form.  Very soft...peep, peep, peep, similar to baby chicks.

That's right.  I'm the proud owner of twelve, two day old guineas.  They look older, don't they?  Maybe not if you've never seen two day old baby chicks.  I might be kind of an expert but that's a story for another day.  Maybe the reason these keets look more mature than chicks is they actually did mature more before hatching.  Since they are way better at survival in adverse environments than chickens it would make sense.  Of course this is pure speculation.  Maybe I'll look it up.  Sometime.

Leo and I have a difference of opinion about the keets.  I think they look cute.  He thinks they look delicious!

Okay, I'm exaggerating.  After his initial curiosity, incredibly Leo has left them alone.  I am not confident this is a pattern of behavior I can depend on so I'm taking as few chances as possible.

In case you are wondering how I came by these little cuties...well you remember I wanted to get my old piano tuned.  No?  Well, I did.  I found a guy using Google.  When I called him he said he lived near Phil Campbell as well.  What luck!

He had only been here a few minutes when he said, "you know me."  I didn't.  But he continued, "I've eaten dinner at your Mother's house many 'a time."  Then it hit me, he was the pastor of my Mom's church years ago.  I remembered her mentioning him several times.  This led to much more talk when he took a break.  He told me about my Mom always making two pumpkin pies, one she served for dinner and one she would send home with him.

Leo had been stretched out on the couch asleep all this time.  I mentioned that I had just gotten flea medication for him and he was really resting for the first time in a couple weeks.  I also told him about my fruitless search for guineas on craigslist...that "Ricky" from Corinth was supposed to call when he had some more hatch.  Yes, Ricky eventually returned my call.  He did not however, ever call and say he had guineas for me.

At this point the Preacher said, "oh, I can sell you some guineas.  But if you want baby guineas you will have to wait until some hatch."  I waited and as you can clearly see, the Preacher is as good as his word.

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Just Blame Me

This morning, quite a bit before dawn, it rained again.  Actually it was almost a storm with distant lightning and thunder.  Leo and I had slept all night.  I think it has helped both of us that once again he's stopped crawling up beside me on the couch* and sleeping.  He's back to sleeping in my chair at the dining room table.

I'm not sure why he's stopped sleeping beside me on the couch.  I suspect it is because he saw me taking vitamins and mistook that for flea pills.  Likely, assuming he has me infected, his job is done.  The joke's on him.  I'm still flea free.

Anyway I woke up totally rested and ready to make myself a more sane and interesting person.  Lots of luck with that I say to myself as distant lightning lit up the sky.  Thunder, wind and rain followed, severe enough that I cut most electrical things off.  Including, if unintentional, my brain.  Leo had seemed in no hurry to go outside until he heard the thunder and rain.  At that point knowing he couldn't, he stood at the door and meow'd to get outside.  At the risk of bodily injury, I opened the door to show him what frightful things Mother Nature was doing.  He stood there for a moment, turned his head toward me and meow'd loudly as if to say, "why are you doing this again?"

I get blamed for everything.  The weather, the fleas, the ticks and today boredom, because he can't go outside.  And it is not just Leo, the kids do it too.  And the relatives!  Well, some of 'em.

I'm fed up!  For the rest of this month, at every opportunity, I'm going to launch a tirade about assigning blame and fault.  I might have tee shirts printed up saying "NO, I did not cause your [insert problem].

*Yes I do have beds which are sleep capable.  My use for them is limited to dying and, as Adrian put it in a comment, carnal frolic.  Since I've grown weary lately of chasing frolicky women and show no signs of impending death I have little use for the beds.
For those people who are hygienically sensitive, I do put sheets on the couch and change them regularly.

Monday, July 22, 2013

In the Air Tonight

John 3:19 "This is the judgment, that the Light has come into the world, and men loved the darkness rather than the Light."  It wasn't talking about me.  I always sleep with a light on somewhere in the house.

And I was asleep.  I was until consciousness as quietly and gently as my cat follows my steps, entered and  chased away sleep.  I had no idea if it was night or day.  Through the slats of the Venetian blinds something shone faintly and coolly to my eyes, blinking as I inclined my head slightly from side to side whilst trying to decide if it was the sun or the moon.  It was night I decided as all around that light was darkness.

I could have closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep.  I did not.  I did not because there were many, many years where I had to do that.  I had to work the next day.  Not anymore.  Tonight I can get up and enjoy being alive.  It has been raining and the crickets roar has lulled.  It seems a perfect background to Phil Collins singing "In the Air Tonight."

Son number 2, that means second born because I have no other way to differentiate, is coming tomorrow.  Today now, just much later.  He loves stew - tomato based stew - and I'll start that and maybe I will play the piano and maybe I will write.  Also I will do some bad things.  I will make a pot of coffee and drink the whole pot.  I'll  listen to the crickets with one ear and Phil Collins with the other and smoke half a pack of cigarettes.  But tonight I'll feel  happy - deep down, pure joy to be alive.  And there is one thing I will not do.  That is the last part of John 3:19, "for their deeds were evil."  I won't do any of that.

Friday, July 19, 2013

The Bloggers

I can't get poems out of my head.  A Beer for the Shower didn't help with the terrific blog they did on poetry.  So here is my latest effort based on my links page.

All you really need if you're stinky and out of power
is a lesson on "how to" at A Beer for the Shower

A Hippo on the Lawn will tell you a story
of real true things or a pirate's glory

Adrian makes pictures that's a sight to see
you'll exclaim with wonder and awe and glee

It's books and movies and words all about
where Alex J. Cavanaugh talks and hangs out

I'm not really sure where Carol in Cairns
got the name of her blog, I'll be darns
(sorry I wanted to be sure and make A Beer for the Shower's crappy poets list)

Death, despair and biscuits is Waffle's stock in trade
but laugh you will 'cause it's merely a charade

a religion or philosophy called Brutalism
I dunno Brute, I'll just call it a schism

Demob happy teacher is from North Wales
and documents her life from whence she hails

Dirt Therapy will show you pictures of roses and such
And tell how to grow them, if you want to work that much

Rightly so, Madame Weebles is proud of herself
and she'll tell you so beginning with the letter F

Most of year he's surrounded by ice
but Genial Misanthrope is warm and he's nice

L A Coch-ran has a witty satiric edge
into her bloggery she's managed this wedge

A letter from Joshua makes you think he could
be a nerd but nah, he's just misunderstood

Life by chocolate is Robyn's creed
definitely one, most of us can heed

Cro Magnon I hear, you've been buckle swashing
'a wasting time when veggies need washing

My Word 1 is where ZACL talks
about the things when she takes walks

The queen of satire is Pickleope
all subjects are within her scope

Point Counter-Point Point Point, oh dear
to rhyme with this causes fear, fear, fear

Mighty Rassles, my brain is fried
it's shorted out, it's been electrified

Sarcastic ninja, Art Review Fun Time
snarky words, no need to rhyme

StrangePegs, I don't get that name
It's sense you make, just the same

The Crow is flying in a cloudy sky
but her words are clear as she passes by

Gorilla Bananas is his name
but the japing ape is his game

Such a good thing Molly Bawn can write
makes us feel good and bring new insight

At the Owl Wood Ian must keep his teapot brewing
new words and thoughts, 'cause ordinary he's eschewing

This one was really hard Daisy Fae
a Trailer Park Refugee, I lost my way

troutbirder is a favorite of nature and man
all he touches is blessed by his hand

There's a lot of stuff under the Tiki Hut
of this I can assure you, there's never a nut

Yorkshire Pudding is wonderful in many ways
his wit and kindness and intelligence have been mainstays

Thursday, July 18, 2013


I have not run out of things to talk about.  I needed to make a change in the way I've been doing my links.  I didn't like the way it worked at all.  One reason was that the link did not open in a new window which meant several clicks getting back to my blog or waiting for it to reload in order to click on the next link.  Also I could see that shortly I would not have enough room for all the blogs I follow.  I've created another blog for that.  It is called The Junk Drawer.  The blog will explain the name.

The second thing I want to mention is the fact that whenever I look at my audience by country, Russia is number 2 in viewers.  This has been true from the first few days I began blogging.  I have yet to see any comments by my Russian audience.  I want say I welcome your comments as much as I do others.  If you are concerned that your English is poor, do not worry.  It only matters if I can understand what you mean.  No matter how bad your English is, it is far better than my Russian since I speak not a word of your language.  This is something I regret.  I would have loved to read "War and Peace" in Russian.

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Everybody's Beautiful In Their Own Way

Sometime ago I discovered Ian Hutson's blog.  I wasn't so overly impressed with the one on that first day - it was about some old house I couldn't relate to.   But then I happened to read his instructions on commenting on his blog.  I knew then I liked this Englishman.  His later blogs proved my instincts right.  He touched that part of my mind that is often hidden and hard to reach - that part that holds all wonderful and fanciful and fantasy things...and Hobbits

He didn't talk about Hobbits per se but rather just talked in a Hobbitty way.  Instead he called me Grasshopper and talked about strange creatures and their habits.  He disparaged the use of the word "with" in favor of "wiv," which I'm sure he picked up from conversing with the Hobbits.    So now I, Grasshopper, will get on wiv it.

I thought about chubby little guys with big furry feet, wearing big red hats and jolly as can be.  I saw them running  in meadows seeking berries and all such as nature provides.  And eating six meals a day as their minimum fare.  And afterwards, when pleasantly full, they'd push back those big brimmed hats and light their corn cob pipes and tell tales of adventure.

And just what am I getting at here?  Madame Weebles has written a blog about people being mean and ugly.  Never mind the reason.  Read her blog if you want to know.  There's always an excuse for people being ugly and some excuse beats none.  I guess.

All of this - fantasy and Hobbits and people looking different from each other - has got me to thinking about people accepting others.  If you let your mind wander a bit and imagine what it could be like sometime in the future, we are hardly different at all.  For someday some of us will be Hobbits and others will choose other forms.

Date:  June 15, 3715
The Human Reform Clinic, Gene Reconstruction Division, Human Form Section, Human Cat Form Unit
Name:  Inkoderp  1123
Justification (In as few words as possible, tell us why you want to change your human form into our human/cat prototype.)

I am now a little over 533 years old.  I have explored the range of human emotion such as there is to explore.  I am beautiful, all my friends are beautiful, all their friends are beautiful.  Damn it!  Even my enemies are beautiful.  My every human need is provided for with inconsequential effort.  My entertainment is satisfying and absorbing but I'm missing something in my life.  I yearn to know, to understand in some small way what the old ones lived with every day of their lives.

I want to look different from everyone else and not a different version of pretty - really different.  I want to know what hunger is and have to worry about my safety.

I need this HumanCatForm because I will to travel to one of the distant planets where ancient and vicious creatures still live.  To arrive there in human form I would either die or be forced to use weapons and tech that would make it no challenge.  In cat form, my speed and strength and agility will allow me to hunt for food and search the vegetation in a most challenging way.  I will fight and survive or I will die but I will know what it is to live again.

Sunday, July 14, 2013


I scan the fridge and then I sigh
once again, groceries I must buy
Seems every time I turn around
off to the Piggly Wiggly I am bound

A list is what I must do first
shopping without it is the worst
But what order shall I make the list
by market aisle, no I can't do this

Because what was on aisle number three
when last I searched and I did see
Has likely been moved to some other aisle
or maybe just dumped in a corner pile

So I should I list my stuff by priority
chow for the cat and coffee for me
Those two things, I can't be without
because the cat will meow and I will pout

There must be something I want to eat
I'm tired of chicken and mystery meat
Maybe a steak would be real fine
To heck with my arteries, on steak I'll dine

I'll just get lots of fruit and such
my heart will thank me ever so much
until the fruit rots in the refrigerator
'cause I always say, I'll eat it later

I hate buying groceries, this is true
making a list and seeing it through
Maybe tomorrow will be soon enough
I'll wait 'til then, even if it's tough

Thursday, July 11, 2013

Dirty Words

Usually when I get an idea for a blog, the words just flow.  If it's a struggle, I dump it and forget it.  That's what I intended to do with this blog about profanity.  The trouble is the idea kept nagging at me but I couldn't tie it down to anything manageable.  Whenever I thought about ugly words and dirty words my mind ran off in a hundred different directions.  Most of those ended up with the word sin and I did not want to go there.  Because well, I don't know.  Truthfully, I've given up trying to figure out what is and is not sinful.  Heck, I don't even know if sin city is sinful.  I do know the Bible says, "he that knoweth to do good and doeth it not, to him it is a sin."  That's good enough for me and I'll stick with that scripture.

But what about hurting others?  Everything from violence to just making fun of someone and hurting their feelings.  Surely that is a sin.  In my mind it is something worse.  It is evil.

So what about profanity?  Where does it fit?  What we think of as ugly and dirty words can and do hurt people's feelings and embarrass them.  But profane words are powerful.  They invoke an emotional response.  And that is what we writers need - that is what we crave.  Otherwise, neither we nor our reader is emotionally invested.  We might as well be writing a tech manual using dry and tasteless words.  There are some other tools at our disposal like description and imagery.  And when we can lift those pristine images from our muddy brains, it is a happy day.  But that creative process is far too rare to employ every time we write.  And sometimes even that is not adequate because there is another aspect to profanity.  Not only does it invoke an emotional response, it sets a mood and can be many things - frustration, rebellion, defiance, contempt - powerful feelings all and often
enough a combination of these.

Writers are left with a choice and I think this quote from "The Razor's Edge" applies.  "The path of a righteous man is hard and more difficult to walk than a razor's edge."  And that is what we want to be - righteous - but not in a religious sense.  Rather, in the way Google defines the word - morally right or justifiable.  So we have to flirt with danger.  We have to walk the razor's edge and hope we're right, justifiable at least, and maybe on some rare occasions even righteous.

Monday, July 8, 2013

I can't do craigslist

first son:  Dad, what's wrong with Leo?
me:  *shrug*
first son:  He looks awful.  Take him to the vet!
me:  I can't take him to the vet.  You know how much he hates cars.  Last year I did go to the vet and brought home Frontline which cost more than $20 for one month.  The results:

  • Leo hated it.
  • He immediately began licking it off which means he probably ingested way more than got to any ticks or fleas.
  • It didn't help much.

I guess it is fine for people who live in town or places where the land is being tilled, etc.  Here it seems about as useful as an eye dropper to irrigate the desert.  Still I applied it as directed for three months.  After that, Leo not only knew what the little tube was but he could smell it when I clipped the top.  And he was having none of it anymore.
first son:  So get some guineas?
me:  yes.

Enter craigslist:  gu - gun, no.  gun - guns, no.  guin - guinea...guineas, yes!


Hi folks,
I want to buy 6 to 10 of your baby guineas.  I live in the woods and the ticks and fleas are about to eat my cat up.  It is only a matter of time until they come after me.  I have been to Summertown but its been a long time.  However, I'm sure I can find your place if you e-mail me either directions or an address.

no response.

phone (different seller)
ring, ring, ring......ring, ring, ring.  Leave message...."Ricky, leave message."
Hello Ricky, this is David Oliver.  I'm calling about the baby guineas.  Sorry I can't remember my cell phone
number.  I think the only people who have it are solicitors (thank you Verizon), who want to sell me everything except guineas.  I prefer email.  My address is blah, blah, blah.

no response.

My new tactic is this:  The pity email and we'll see how it works.

Dear Guinea Keeper,
My cat looks like he's just went through the barber line at an army induction center.  He got the barber with the missing teeth both in his mouth and the clippers.  I'm sure I'll be next.  It will be hard to tell us apart fur wise.  Both Leo (my cat) and I have agreed to sacrifice in order to pay a premium for the guineas.  Leo is going to do without his yummy canned cat food.  I've agreed to stop renting x...oops, PG rated films.  I believe you can look far and wide and not find anyone more deserving of these rare birds than yours truly.

If that doesn't work, I'll try this:

Dear Guinea Possessor,
My wealthy uncle has repented.  Having gained all his wealth by killing every living thing on his farm to sell the coal off of it, the guilt over his part in global warming has overwhelmed him.  He's decided to give all his wealth to the poor - me - and take up his cross and follow Jesus.  I would like to follow suit but I still have wild oats in my bag.  Yes I'm 65 and I need to get busy sowing but in my defense it was a big bag.  Anyway, what I'm wanting right now is a tree house and a mob of guineas.  I'm still looking for the Wood Elves about the house but hopefully I've found my guineas.  Please reply.  I'll make it worth your while as I'm just sitting here on a pile of money.

Friday, July 5, 2013

The Seeker

A few days ago, Carol in Cairns, posted this from Socrates:

The secret of happiness...is not found in seeking more,
but in developing the capacity to enjoy less.

Carol has moved on and so has apparently everyone else except me.  As I am often want to do, I'm lagging around, pondering details.  I would like to talk to the old codger but that's not possible for me.  Maybe I can ask Madame Weebles to do it...

At any rate, what did he stop seeking?  And really, this is directly contradictory to another admonishment, "seek and ye shall find."  To seek or not to seek, that is the question.  I've decided this all has to do with Wal-Mart.

One of my nephews is extremely retarded and most of the time you can't understand anything he says.  You can understand when he says "goto Wal-Mart."  If you ask, "Lindberg, why do you want to go to Wal-Mart, he'll say, "see what they got."

Now I have thought at various times they don't have boxes of happiness at Wal-Mart.  Yes, I've looked.  Arguably, they have though because I found a box of Whitman's chocolates.  I have never seen anyone eat chocolate and cry at the same time.  Maybe this is possible but I've never seen it.  We could ask Robyn.

After an exhaustive search in the store and seeing what Lindberg found on several occasions, I've come to some conclusions:

1.  Yes Wal-Mart does indeed have boxes of happiness.
2.  Eventually you'll get unhappy though because they won't have anything new.
3.  You can eat only so much chocolate.  RE:  Robyn to see it this statement is true.
4.  No matter how much you plead with the manager to get new stuff, new flavors and new toys, she will say she can't.
5.  Too much seeking will turn you into a Seeker and you won't have time for anything else.

So now back to Socrates' statement.  Just maybe how Socrates would have said it nowadays is stop thinking "I want" and instead think, "I have."

Wednesday, July 3, 2013

The 4th

It is just passed midnight so it is officially the 4th.  Seems all the world is asleep except me and it's probably a
good thing I don't have any fireworks.  I would probably go outside and set 'em off.  When people began rushing up in their pajamas and my phone began ringing, I guess I could just shrug and like Geraldine and say, "the devil made me do it!"

Oops, that's more looney bin ammo so I should scratch that idea for any future events.  Still, it would be fun.

Instead of shooting off fireworks, I've decided to think about why we went to war.  We learned in school it was because the British had done this or that.  This is just silly and I no longer believe a word of it.  Men don't go to war over tea or taxes or even tobacco and heaven knows - unfortunately - I love that stuff.  For many years men here had lived in little towns far away from government control.  They had lived in the wilderness where government control was essentially not possible.  Our forefathers had gotten a taste of freedom and it tasted good.  Real good!

They began to dream and men with eloquent words gave voice to those dreams.  A movement began that was so powerful men freely entered into a life and death struggle against a force they could not possibly hope to defeat.  But they hoped anyway because this freedom, this idea to live as they pleased, was to die for!

So tonight and tomorrow I don't need fireworks to celebrate the 4th.  I will silently think about all those men and women, heroes and heroines, who took up arms or supported those who did and gave us a legacy that eventually spread throughout the world.

Happy 4th to all of you!

When Things Go Wrong

You push open the door to the men's restroom and you're greeted with the smell of urine.  You step inside and it's damp.  For many years I was under the impression that public restrooms were generally unfit places for human beings without head to toe protective clothing.  Eventually I found out it is not all public restrooms.  It is the men's.  Why?  Because most of us had women cleaning up after us for the first 18 years of life.  And, we have special needs!  Even after years of practice, we can't always pee in a straight line.  Yeah, we practiced hitting our mothers in the face for a few months early on.  But every so often, there we go and pee off to the left or the right.  The worst is when we get the two directional or God forbid, the three directional pee.  I think it's nature's way of reminding us that things can go awry.  Sometimes terribly so.  It doesn't matter how much experience we have or how confident we are in our ability, sometimes things go wrong.

There is a lesson and it is this -  be prepared.  Yeah I used the Boy Scout's motto.  It's okay, they can sue me and lots of luck with that.  The trouble with being prepared is it often makes us feel like wimps.  Like sitting on the toilet to pee.  Dammit, we are men after all and we don't squat to pee.

So being prepared is not always a solution we can live with.  But having to tolerate a stinky toilet is not fun time either.  Neither is coming into work and having to deal with a problem someone else made.  So guys if you can't live with being prepared and avoiding a problem, be a man a fix the damage.

Monday, July 1, 2013

Tweety the Tweeter

I was bored, okay?

So I've been told twitters don't twit, they tweet
And the sweeter the twitter, the sweeter the tweet,
But what of the poor parakeet?
Here's Tweety all 'a twitter to tweet
But he's a twit 'cause he can't treat
his listeners with tweets ever so sweet

No worries is all I can say to the bird
There's other ways to be heard
There's bloggers blogging and talkers talking
talking heads and squawkers squawking
So raise your voice and throw a vibe
Someone might just listen to your aside.