Tags: conservative, liberal, life, Media, Politics
There are a few things that come to mind, triggered by current events, that I asked the Geezer to comment on. Some of the things are questions I don’t like to ask, hate in fact, however, things have gotten ridiculous. The Q and A follows:
1. Q…..”What can you humans do about the terrible tornadoes that kill so many of you and destroy so much property?” A…..(after a lengthy hesitation) “Not much, if you choose to live in a spot that is subject to natural calamities. It’s a risk you have to be willing to take. The brave people in Oklahoma and other places in the tornado belt have made that choice. We have in Florida where hurricanes pose a similar threat. There are earthquakes in California, super storms like Sandy, no offense old girl, in the Northeast, floods in Illinois and the whole Midwest. If one lives where tornadoes are bad and frequent, one must accept the risk or build their homes underground.”
2. Q…..”When a vicious dog from a strange neighborhood tries come into our community and wants kill and beat up on us, we form a pack and keep them out. Seems to me terrorists do the same thing. Why don’t humans keep them out?” A…..(no hesitation) “Because dogs have better sense than bureaucrats and politicians.”
3. Q…..”After listening to folks like Chris Mathews, Bill O’Reilly, Lois Lerner, Dick Shulman, John Boehner, Heinrich, sorry I mean Eric Holder, and Barack Obama, do any of the media folks, bureaucrats, and politicians have anything in common?” A…..(after a moment of thought) “Yes, they do. In fact, four things. Contempt for the intelligence of the people they claim to represent. Unfettered, unlimited arrogance that allows them to be dismissive and to disregard others. They’re unmitigated liars with no consciences. And in most cases you cited, they’re perfectly willing to try to impose their ideals on others without thought to law or the constitution. That’s their commonality, but like Satchel Paige said, A man can’t help being born average, but he don’t have to be common.”
4. Q…..”After hearing about all the government spying and coersion, aren’t you concerned about the IRS or the Attorney General’s office going after you?” A…..”No. the American people and military will put up with just so much before the advocates of the totalitarian state end up in an honest court, are tried and have their necks stretched.
Tags: animal tales, Books, Cooking, Current events, dogs, Fox & Friends, funny stories, Humor, life, publishing, Reading, Writing
I got a rare canine opportunity a week or two ago. The Geezer put Mrs. G and me in the Ford Sport Trac and took us to see the space shuttle launch. However, it did take some convincing on my part. The Geezer and his Mrs. had originally gone to see the Endeavor blast off when the President went to see it, but some kind of gizmo in the fuel system failed and the trip was a bust. I didn’t get a chance to go on that trip. I don’t like being left behind. I decided to drop some gentle hints.
“Hey, Geezer, are you going back to see the shuttle go up when it’s rescheduled?” I asked.
“Yes, I believe we are. You know there’s only one more flight scheduled and then the program ends.” He gave NO indication he’d take me.
“That must really be something to see!” I figured the old boy would pick up on my desire, but the rust in his mental system had the process really gummed up that day. He said, “Uh-huh.”
Maybe something a little more indirect would get the synapses firing if I took time to allow them to catch up. “Gee, Geezer, it must really be enriching for anyone to see such important historical events.”
The mental gears groaned. After a few seconds, the old boy answered, “Yes, Sandy, I suppose it is.”
“What a wonderful opportunity. Have you seen many of these type events? In person, I mean?”
The Geezer went deep into thought. You know, somethings are painful to watch. His eyes rolled around like pinballs in a game. I didn’t see any oil leaks, but I’m sure the strain must have caused some. I decided to prompt him a little.
“What about previous launches?”
“No, that’s why I want to go,” the Geezer mumbled.
“You know, I haven’t seen one either.” I figured he’d have to get that one.
Humans can be so mentally retarded! I tried another avenue. “All those wonderful things you’ve seen—the first super sonic passenger jet, Lindberg’s crossing the Atlantic, the Wright Brothers first…”
“Whoa, Sandy. I know you think I’m ancient, but I’m not quite that old.” He grinned weakly. “I certainly would have like to have seen them, but…”
It was my turn to interrupt and lie. “Oh, I thought maybe you had. I know how important you think it is for everyone to witness those kind of things.” I paused. “Because you only get a few opportunities in a lifetime.” I paused. “In person.” I paused. “First hand.” I paused. “To soak up the atmosphere and ambiance.”
He answered, “Uh-huh.” Have you ever looked into your human’s eyes and wondered if there was anything functioning back behind them? It makes you want to shout, “Hey! Is anything going on in there!”
The indirect approach wasn’t working. I decided something a little more direct might work better. “Ahhhhhh, Geezer, you might want to think about this. When you and the Mrs. go away, I don’t get the same kind of love from the pet-sitter that you two give me. It makes me feel deprived. When I feel deprived, it makes me depraved. I want to chew things. Dig holes in rugs and sofas. It gives me leaky bladder syndrome and the green apple quick steps. It makes me want to–”
“Would you like to go along?” The Geezer asked. The blind squirrel found another acorn.
Seeing the shuttle blast off was extraordinary. We drove to Cape Canaveral the night before and stayed in a motel south of Kennedy Space Center so we could get up early and get a good spot on the beach to watch the launch. The three of us were seated on the sands in our folding camp chairs before the sun was up. It was beautiful. The calm Atlantic licked at the white sands while the sun rose from low clouds on the eastern horizon. When the time came, the glow of the rocket and its roar were spectacular. I’ve borrowed some pics from Mrs. Gator to share with you.
That reminds me… you do meet some of the nicest people at events like that. Gertie, a long-haired dachshund, Forrest a blue tick hound, and Trooper a shih tzu romped around with me on the sand chasing waves and shore birds until the time came for the event. We discussed our favorite subject…eating! And Trooper, this recipe for Hush Puppies is for you. They’re lighter than the traditional ones you might have eaten before.
Here’s what you need:
2 cups of Hush Puppy mix (Autry or Dixie Lily)
1 cup of self-rising flour
3/4 cup of diced sweet onion
1 teaspoon of garlic powder
1 1/2 cups of water
Here’s what you do:
1) Mix together thoroughly the Hush Puppy mix, flour, and garlic powder in a large mixing bowl
2) Add the two eggs (For humans using this – take ‘em out of the shells! Daaaa!)
3) Stir in the eggs.
4) Add the water and stir thoroughly.
5) Add the onions and - guess what – stir thoroughly.
6) Let sit for ten minutes minimum.
7) Heat fresh cooking oil, 1″ deep, to 375 degrees (or about “6″ on an electric stove) in a large pot or skillet.
8) Use a tablespoon to drop the batter into the hot oil. They’ll float in a few seconds. Turn ‘em over at least once. Don’t worry how they look. They aren’t gonna look good once they get inside anyway.
9) Fish them out with a slotted spoon when they’re a nice light brown.
10) And Ummmm-ummmm, put some dog slobber on those rascals! They are good! Makes about 40.
Oh, if your humans have been behaving tolerably share some with them. They’ll love them too.
Tags: animal tales, Books, dogs, Entertainment, Fox & Friends, funny stories, Humor, Media, Politics, publishing, Reading, Writing
“Mind if we go down Quail Trail?” one of the Geezer’s friends asked as we took our morning stroll. Bob, a human, and Lucy, my cocker spaniel buddy, were accompanying us on the AM constitutional the Geezer and I take daily. It was unusual for that particular gentleman to select Quail Trail as part of his morning walk. One side of road was densely wooded and housed a large number of snakes, something that sparked unreasoning fear in him.
I was sure it would evoke a question from the Geezer, which it did. “Aaaa, Bob, you sure about that? This warm weather has the snakes active and crawling.”
“Absolutely!” Bob was staring at a couple approaching us on the normal route we took each morning. “I want to avoid Madelyn and Mark. Those assholes drive me crazy!”
The Geezer just grinned. I spoke to Lucy in Doganese, “What’s the story on him?” I twitched my head toward Lucy’s human.
“Politics,” she snarled.
That explained it to me. The eight-letter word seemed to make idiots of other-wise rational humans. Not that many humans are thinkers under any condition. The species is afflicted with all sorts of mental inadequacies.
Bob tugged on Lucy’s leash, heading us toward black snake city. Yep, we made the turn down Quail Trail.
“Didn’t Bob and Mark used to like each other?” I asked. “I know they’d fish and go to football games together at one time.”
“Used to is the operative statement,” Lucy woofed. “It started before the 2008 election. It’s gotten worse and worse. My human is a Lie-bore-ral. That Mark person is a Con-stern-native. They never even used to talk about politics. Now, that’s all they do. No, not talk; shout.”
“That’s too bad.”
Lucy shook her head like she would if she had ear mites. “I know what causes it; it’s TV. And radio. They have all these political gurus on shows that specialize in making one side mad at the other. Bob repeats what he hears from Mathews, Madow, Marshall, and Maher. Mark quotes Beck, Hannity, Limbaugh, and Levine. All they have to do is mention one of those names and it’s like waving a red cape at a bull, or forcing a teenager to listen to Guy Lombardo music, or giving one of us a rubber steak for supper.
“Yep, I’ve seen it at my house. The Geezer actually threw a towel at the TV one time,” I said.
“Oh, is the Geezer a Lie-bore-ral or a Con-stern-native?”
“I have no idea,” I said, lying as hard as I could. Even a canine with a lot less dog-sense than I possess knows not to stick his or her tongue in that mouse trap.
About that time we’d walked a hundred yard down the road. A gentle breeze carried the fragrance of Sneaky B to the receptors in my nose. Sneaky B is a large black snake, a full five foot in length, an inch-and-a-half wide, with a cranky personality. My nostrils told me he was nestled in the weeds growing on the side of the road.
An evil idea hatched in my sometimes devious mind. I stretched my leash out as far as it would go, herded Sneaky B toward the road, and gave one loud bark to send him slithering onto the pavement…right in front of Bob.
“Oh, shit!” Bob hopped back, jerking poor Lucy around as though she was a rag doll. He took a couple of running steps then froze and cursed again, this time using a long string of vile human incivilities. Lucy was giggling between gasps for air that the snatching of her collar had caused.
I was laughing too, but at Lucy and her human. They were a funny sight. What I couldn’t figure out, was what Lucy thought was funny, when she should have been mad. I asked, “Hey, why are you laughing? You ought to be pissed at Bob.”
Lucy said slyly, “Oh, he’s pissed or pooped enough for both of us. Look at his shorts.”
The light tan color of his Bermudas was turning a much darker shade in the crotch area. I asked, “Did he?”
“He sure did,” Lucy confirmed.
I shook my head and watched Sneaky B slide back into the weeds at the side of the road. As the snake passed, he hissed, “What’s his problem?”
“He’s been feasting on too much politics. It’ll give humans problems directly or indirectly every time.”
Tags: animal tales, Books, Current events, dogs, Fox & Friends, funny stories, Humor, life, Media, publishing, Reading, Writing
The second is that the humans inhabiting the beach have no idea how to pitch a hammock. How in the world is a canine like me supposed to get in that thing without risking life and limb? Weather report – slightly cloudy, low 58, high 81.
Mrs. Gator says this pic shows how much I’m suffering in this February weather as well as letting you, my readers, get a different view of me. Not too bad for a lady approaching middle age, right?
To all you folks in cold weather, gee, I wish I was there. To all you folks like me who live in warm places, isn’t it fun to lie?
Tags: animal tales, Books, Current events, dogs, Entertainment, Fox & Friends, funny stories, holidays, Humor, Labor Day, life, Media, publishing, Reading, Writing
Labor day is over, thank goodness. It’s a holiday that marks a lot of changes where I live. For example, hurricane season is about half over. Hurricane season is something you feel a lot better worrying about as it goes away, rather than the dread of facing the season’s start. Its one of those least worst situations; like voting for a politician in an election.
After Labor Day, cool weather is on the way. Hooray. Anticipating that makes me smile. Human’s think they suffer in the heat. They moan and groan like a bunch of puppies whose mother has decided to shut down the milk bar for a while. I’d like those two-legged complaint machines to walk around in a full-length fur coat like mine, during August, and watch them swelter.
Ahhh changes! We’ll have less rain, less mosquitoes, less humidity, more camping trips, more people returning to the ‘hood, and more time outdoors.
It marks change all over as I understand. Other parts of the country see changes in their weather, kids go back to school, and humans change what they wear. People are getting ready for elections that they hope will make changes. Why, I’ve even noticed that some folks sigh and become more business-like in everything they do after Labor Day.
I’ve wondered, why do they call the holiday Labor Day? No body works on that day. Why not call it No Labor Day? Or something more appropriate like, Things Are Going To Change Day?” The name didn’t make sense to me. Human’s do many strange things, like throwing away perfectly good bones or driving four blocks to the store for a loaf of bread, then spending a half hour on an exercise machine to lose weight, so little they do surprises me. Or should…….
Though I should have known better, I decided to ask the Geezer, “Why do you humans call the first Monday in September, Labor Day?”
The Geezer grinned, “Lets see, Sandy. The simplest way to explain it to you is that its a day set aside to honor the working man.”
I hate it when someone who isn’t any more intelligent than I am “talks down” to me! You know, like when a politician speaks to you humans. I fired back, “Oh, how about working women? How was it set aside? Did you do it with a bulldozer? Crane? What?”
“Sorry Sandy.” The Geezer had his I stepped in it this time look firmly affixed to his face. Unlike a politician, the Geezer is smart enough to know when he’s insulting the individual he’s addressing. “I owe you a decent answer. You have to know a little history to understand why they named it Labor Day. Mind?”
I sat down, swept one paw across my chest and bowed at the same time. “Proceed,” I said and resigned myself to one of the Geezer’s long-winded dissertations.
“It originated back in the 1880′s.” The old boy changed his look to his Geezerpedia countenance. “There was a lot of turmoil between labor, business, and government. Trouble boiled over and some union people were killed by government forces. Grover Cleveland was president and he wanted to defuse the strife. He quickly ran a bill through Congress declaring a holiday to recognize “the contributions that labor makes to our country.” Eventually, the September date chosen was one celebrated by a New York union. It became the national holiday we celebrate today. It was supposed to be day of rest and relaxation. Parades and speeches were a big part of the celebration in its early years, but they’ve faded. The picnics, sporting events, and the last hurrah to summer just evolved.”
“That makes sense,” I observed. “Well partly. A lot of the things you humans do on that day aren’t rest and relaxation. Running in races, swimming, playing volleyball, and things like that are…. strenuous.”
“Remember what Mark Twain said.” The old boy likes to quote Twain. The writing giant is one of the Geezer’s favorites. “Work is what one is obliged to do and play is what one desires to do.” The Geezer did his best to look literary. “That’s why sitting at a desk doing accounting is considered work, while risking life and limb in a strenuous effort to climb a mountain is considered play.” The literary aire faded and he looked like plain old Sam Clemons when he added, “That’s probably not the exact quote, but you can go to Tom Sawyer and look it up if you want.”
I nodded and smiled. The more time I spend around humans, the more inconsistent and difficult they are to understand. Straining the Geezer’s meager mental machinery wouldn’t enlighten my old friend. How do you explain to unthinking creatures that resting means going to a big cushion and laying down, not cashing cats in the hot sun? The strange thing is that the species can make up clever tidbits, like that Twain fellow did, that almost make sense of their weird, irrational behavior. Marathons? Football games? Parades? Yard work? Badminton? Is that rest? You think?
The Geezer did try to placate me and I appreciated that effort. To a degree….. I started to make a snide remark, to tell him that he was sounding like a politician, but I couldn’t do that. There are some insults you just can’t inflict on a dog or even on a human.
Tags: animal tales, Books, Congress, conservative, dogs, economy, Fox & Friends, Fox News, Humor, liberal, Media, Politics, publishing, Reading, Writing
“Why do you do that?” I watched the Geezer Gator get his tide marker out for his monthly update. Each full moon he measures the level of the high tide from the top of the sea wall and records its height on a strip of wood. He’s done this since I’ve been here in our Southwest Florida home– that’s 2 1/2 years.
”It’s my version of a lie detector, Sandy.” The old boy looked at the stick and grunted. “I’ll set this out so I don’t miss marking it. Full moon is on the 7th. I forgot last month.”
“You okay? You haven’t fallen and bumped your head? Or developed malaria? Maybe we should take your temperature.” Once in a while I get concerned about the old boy’s mental state. I figure there must be rust on that brain of his. “How on earth can that serve as a lie detector?”
The Geezer Gator laughed. “I can understand your confusion. This started ‘BS.’ That’s ‘before Sandy.’ Five years ago when the flap about global warming was peaking, I decided to do a little survey for myself. I’ve owned this place on an ocean-connected canal for 29 years. I hadn’t noticed any difference in the water level, but unless you recorded the actual height would you really know? It’s pretty important since the information some folks have been putting out is that this property will be under water in a few years. I decided to find out for myself. Was the book “An Inconvenient Truth” fact, or just “A Politically Motivated Lie?”
“And the answer is?” I asked.
The Geezer shuffled through a stack of papers stored by the stick. “In the 63 observations I’ve made, the net increase is 3/16 inches. That’s in about five years. Actually, it’s gone down a couple times. Since the average high tide level is 29″ from the seawall top, and if I use the 5 year rate of increase it means the seawall top will be breached in 773 years. What do you think, Sandy?”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire!”
”That’s my deduction too, Sandy. But, lets remember there are a lot of factors that may change. And, while the increase is insignificant, it is an increase. Things could get worse. China and India are just really getting started on putting autos on the road. The global economy is developing new industrial capabilities and power requirements world wide.” He got his sly, ’my tongue is in my cheek,’ look. “And of course, there’s the continuing problem of animal life producing all those pollutants.”
“Sounds like none of that is going to change.”
“Let the liars, I mean politicians, have some time to dream up ways to make it appear like they’re working on the problems while at the same time strengthening their political power and padding the pockets of their friends and business partners.”
“That sounds pretty cynical to me, Geezer.” I have to keep the old boy in line. “Just how would they go about that?”
The old boy rubbed his mustache and looked into space hoping a friendly alien would beam down an answer. Amazingly one must have. He smiled and said, “Bicycle pedals, Windmills, and Beano.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “Geezer, what are you talking about? How do those three do anything to solve the problems of more cars in the emerging economies, the need for more power, gases in the atmosphere? For example, China and India already have huge numbers of bicycles.”
“Did I say bicycles? I didn’t say bicycles. It’s pedals, pedals, pedals. In fact, the politicians will tell you that pedals solve the unemployment problem as well. We’ll hook up those pedals to electrical generators, have the unemployed turn them in shifts, convert all cars to electric, and have GE make the conversion kits.”
I enjoy a spoof as much as the next canine. I played along, “What if there aren’t enough people unemployed?”
“No problem. The government will simply decree that ALL people must spend two hours, or what ever it takes, on the power tread mills. Freedom is no longer an issue, government can do anything, like set salaries, cancel debts, bankrupt businesses, make value judgements of a persons mental judgments based on race and gender. Why not tell us we have to do our part for the collective?”
No sense reasoning with the Geezer when he gets those hypotheticals rolling. He always seems to come up with another tale. I decided to move on. “The windmills are for generating power, right?”
“Yep. GE will have a monopoly on that, too. So that fits. Might be able to use some of the unemployed to blow on the blades. The government is creating more of those folks in the auto industry by producing more cars in China. They could set up a couple windmills in the studios of MSNBC, CBS, CNN, ABC, FOX, and NBC so that something usable comes out of those blow hards.”
“I’ll drink to that!” I had to agree. I cautiously asked, “Butttt..What about the Beano? Explain that.”
”Sure, Sandy. We can get the government to hire Haliburton to clandestinely put Beano in all foods for humans and all domestic animals, world wide. Think of the impact. Less methane to attack the Ozone layer. You can eat leftovers without fumigating the house for roaches. Cows won’t poot in pastures decreasing the mating urges of bull frogs and crickets thereby eliminating those surplus populations. I won’t ever have to worry about cutting a fart in a crowded elevator, having to look at the guy next to me like he did it, while waving my hand in front of my nose and saying, “Some People.”
I shook my head and said, “Geezer, really.”
He laughed. “Okay Sandy, I take it all back except for one thing.”
My paw covered my squinted eyes because I had to ask. “And…what’s that?”
“Politicians are liars.”
You can’t argue with a universal truth.
Tags: animal tales, Books, dogs, economy, Entertainment, Fox & Friends, Fox News, Humor, publishing, Reading, Writing
“Hey, Geezer, what’s out-housing?”
The Geezer Gator looked at me as though I’d eaten loco weed. “Out-housing?” he repeated. “Are you sure? You know plenty about that already. That’s what you do every morning when we take our walk.”
I gave him my, you’re a smart ass, look. “Geezer, I do lots of things each morning. Give me a break.”
“I guess being city born and a youngster you don’t know what an outhouse is. An outhouse is what folks used before toilets and indoor plumbing. It literally was a small house located “out” or away from peoples’ homes.”
“Oh.” I still was unclear about the word.
“Sandy, you sure you wanted to know about out-housing? How was the word used?” The Geezer could see I was confused.
“I heard Mrs. Gator and Mrs. Zoomers talking about how the Smith’s were in deep doggy dew because of the out-housing happening at Mr. Smiths company. Mrs. Zoomer said the Smiths were about to lose their house.” I scratched my ear with my paw. “I guess that makes sense, but wouldn’t they be in deep human poo, not doggy dew?”
The old boy grinned the way he does when I do something dumb, like the time I tried to eat a bottle of Tabasco. “You need to improve your eavesdropping skills. I think you got the words wrong or mixed together, Sandy. I think you heard them talking about outsourcing.”
“Out-whating?” I asked.
“Outsourcing. That’s when a company decides to buy materials or services they previously did for themselves.”
”Hmmmm. Why would a company do that? Don’t the people they buy it from have to make a profit? Wouldn’t it cost more?” It didn’t sound logical to me.
“That might be hard for you to understand. It gets complicated.”
“Try me.” I wanted to add, it might be for human brains, but not for my sharp canine intellect.
“It has to do with costs. Sometimes you can get something done cheaper by another company because of the machinery they have or the technology they use, but most frequently it’s because of cheap labor and often the labor is cheap because it’s not in the US. They call that offshore outsourcing.”
“That’s not difficult to understand, Geezer. But, how does that effect the Smiths?”
“Well, when a company outsources, it gets rid of the expense it had to make the part or perform the service. Mr. Smith’s job was to do work his company decided to outsource.”
“Oh, then Mr. Smith has to get a job somewhere else, right?”
“Yes, but a lot of companies are doing that so it’s hard to find jobs now.”
“Okay, but…..” I still didn’t understand the logic.
The Geezer was grinning at me, but I had to ask anyway. “If people keep outsourcing, how do you humans buy the things you need? Won’t the companies that saved the money not gain anything because the humans they sell to can’t afford it and they’ll have to reduce their price or go out of business? A few people will make out like bandits for a short time, but everybody gets clobbered in the long run.”
“You’re right Sandy! That makes you smarter than most professors at Harvard, all our politicians, and the Wall Street crowd.”
Of course, the Geezer didn’t have to tell me that.
# # #
Tags: animal tales, Books, dogs, Entertainment, Fox News, Humor, publishing, Reading, Writing
It’s been a while since I’ve been able to get to the computer. The Geezer’s been off running around the state on reunions and fishing trips, plus he’s been entertaining his family. That means no keyboard access for me. Sooner or later I’ll figure out some way to circumvent his security system and I won’t be silent so long.
I miss the old boy when he’s not around. Well, mostly. He’s my walking and talking companion. The play-mate I can count on most. The Geezer serves me my meals when he’s around and provides the bulk of treats I shouldn’t be getting. He is a soft touch. We’re best friends.
But even best friends can get on each others nerves. I could do without his rants on politics. The ear mite medicine he treats me with is a real head shaker. His nagging me about tugging on the leash, stopping me from trying all those delicious little tidbits lying on the road, and restraining me from running full speed to my friends is annoying, but on the whole I can’t imagine life without him.
We were sitting on the dock this morning for the first time in a couple of weeks. The weather was pleasant and the conversation light. I brought the subject of his son’s visit up, thinking it would be something he’d enjoy.
“Hey Geezer, your son sure is doing well. Even though he works in a troubled industry, getting that company technology award has to be a real plus for him. He seems to be making enough money to live comfortably. Both your grandchildren are smart and work hard in school – they don’t appear to have any major behavior problems. His wife has a good job and they seem to get along. You must be happy he’s succeeding.”
The Geezer looked glum. “He has a failure to fail.”
“What are you talking about? That’s crazy!” I was afraid senility had suddenly claimed my buddy.
“I does sound crazy, doesn’t it? And it would be if it weren’t true.” The old boy’s sad expression and slow head shake underlined his next statement. “Failure is today’s surest way to be rewarded. Want some examples?”
The Geezer looked like he needed some humoring. “Okay, I guess I can suffer through them.” I braced for the worst.
“Sandy, answer true or false to each of the statements I make.”
“The reward for failing in your job as a major business executive is a Golden Parachute.”
”True.” I could see where this conversation was leading.
“The reward for a bank company failing is a Bush bailout.”
“True.” I struggled to think of a way to change the subject.
“The reward for failing to pay your taxes is being made Obama’s Secretary of the Treasury.”
“Yep, all true.” I figured a way to clear the depression permeating the dock. “If failing is the way to get ahead, let’s try this. I’ll give you some failures and you tell me what reward would likely occur. Use that writer’s imagination you like to brag about.”
The codger can’t resist a challenge. He took a deep breath, braced himself, and said, “Fire away.”
“A high school student fails to turn in a paper and flunks a science class that’s crucial for his getting into college.” I figured that would stump him right out of the starting gate.
“That’s easy. The student lies, telling his teacher it was written in invisible ink on invisible paper and goes on to explain his earth-changing theories on cloaking devises. He’s immediately offered a full scholarship to MIT, a summer laboratory in the Peekskills, and a job with the CIA.”
I had a comeback I thought would be more challenging. “One of the participants on a picnic fails to heed warnings about the effects eating too many baked beans will have on him.”
“Hmmmm.” The Geezer scratched his head, but smiled. “Being so full of hot gas, the picnicker floated up into space like the Aunt character in Harry Potter. An Air Force fighter confused him with a UFO, shot at him and missed. The nearness of the rockets passing, caused him to unleash a huge burst of flatulence. The picnicker hurtled to earth landing in a huge stack of hay. He was able to sue the US government for a trillion dollars for mental anguish, collect from a chemical company who discovered his gaseous formula was a perfect pesticide, and was given a payment by former Vice President Gore for contributing to the background for his newest book, “An Inconvenient Fart.”
”That’s pretty good.” The Geezer’s colon cleansing must have had a mental side benefit. Made me wonder if the old boy’s anatomy was standard. I decided to make one last effort to silence him. “You failed to make it to the airport in time to catch a flight to see your wife. And…and…and, if you don’t have sex in 24 hours you’ll die!
The Geezer frowned for several seconds before he smiled. “As a result of failing to catch the plane, I was sent to a private waiting room. Upon entering, I accidentally tripped the time lock on the door making it impossible to open for 25 hours.”
“Damn, Geezer! Where’s the reward in that?”
“You didn’t let me finish. The only other things in the room were a box containing 1000 Viagra pills and Nicole Kidman, who couldn’t see very well because she had her eyes dilated, kept saying, ‘Keith I’m glad you finally made it,’ and she told me she’d just eaten 10 dozen oysters.”
The things Geezer was saying were far-fetched and didn’t make any sense, but then that describes everything that’s happening today. Gee, maybe failing to fail isn’t a good thing.
Tags: animal tales, Books, dogs, Fox & Friends, Fox News, Humor, publishing, Reading, Writing
It was chilly on the dock this morning. That was partly because another impulse of cold air brushed across Southwest Florida and partly because we left the nice warm house earlier than usual. The winds were brisk and penetrated my coat enough that I shivered. There’s the possibility I could catch a cold or develop pneumonia. I blame the whole thing on the Geezer’s failure to keep one of his New Year’s resolutions and Fox & Friends. I’m seriously considering contacting one of those shyster lawyers that advertise on TV and suing both of them.
The Geezer is gradually watching more TV news programs and he’s breaking his resolution not to get mad as he watches. This morning he started shouting at the screen as the three smiling faces on the couch reported news about octoplets, Oscars, Obama’s bank bailout, etc. At times, Geezer is like a run away steam engine. Once his boiler gets lighted any kind of fuel pushes his pistons faster. I expect the old boy will explode one of these days. There’ll be pieces of steel plate, iron parts, and hot water spewed over five counties. To avoid self-destruction this morning, he clicked off TV and cooled down in the early morning winds.
Obviously, by breaking his promise not to watch and become angry at news programs like Fox & Friends, he knew or should have known, his resultant actions did or could cause damage to those in association and/or contact with him on or about the times that he participates in said activities. In other words, if I get sick I’m going to screw the old boy.
But the real culprit is Fox. They did it! They knew it! Or should have! Broadcasting news that was sure to inflame the Geezer and people like him was a blatant act of irresponsibility. How dare they upset poor unsuspecting people like the Geezer! After introducing him and those in his class to the addictive personalities they feature, they have conspired to falsely imprison his/their judgement. In utter disregard for their implied contract with their viewers, they must have known they’re forcing the Geezer and poor unfortunates like him to make rash and irrational actions creating damages to him and to those entities who have dependencies there upon. This is clearly evidenced by the act of subjecting me to cruel and unusual temperature conditions. Besides, I’m sure old Rupert Murdock has deep pockets!
The settlement I’ll require is $121,470,378.00. I’ve dropped the small change. I’ve fairly and carefully assessed my damages. This figure has been constructed by adding the costs of my potential vet bill $168, medicine $88, time at the hospital, $270.50, mental trauma $15,000,000, and $15,367,068 for loss of potential income for the potential degradation of my barking voice for potential watch-dog positions and potential recording opportunities. This totals $30,367,594.50. The treble punitive damages comprise the rest of the settlement. In light of recent suits like the 8 mill awarded to a smoker that was too stupid to quit and the 32 mill a bunch of illegals sued a rancher for who was holding them for arrest, I think the escalation is appropriate.
I have the phone numbers of some local legal eagles who seem sleezy enough to handle such a case. But, I’m going to take a shot at trying to corrupt a lawyer I have lots in common with. Megyn Kelly! She’s sure to have insider information about Fox. Maybe knows who’s sleeping with who. We both are blonds, are beautiful, have piercing eyes, sharp tongues, and don’t take s–t from anyone. A 50% split just might do it, though my Wall Street pals tell me $60,000,000 is tough to get by on.
I can honestly appeal to a lawyer on the basis that the courts should favor the suit. The courts’ heirarchy seem to be ready to embrace minority causes. Goodness, even the Attorney General is calling us a country of racial cowards. Isn’t that a positive statement full of hope for Americans? Certainly Golden Retrievers qualify as a minority.
If any of you know a lawyer who will take the case or Megyn Kelly’s contact info, I’d be interested. That’s as soon as I can leave my paws in cold water long enough to get sick. Oh, and if you have a yacht brokers telephone number….
Tags: animal tales, Books, Current events, dogs, Entertainment, Humor, Media, publishing, Reading, Super Bowl, Writing
The smells are slowly dissipating, thank goodness. The whole Gator family will think several times before hosting another Super Bowl Party. As far as I’m concerned it’s just another way to spell disaster. But, I’m getting my story out of sync.
When Mrs. Gator proposed having a shindig at our home, I hoped the synapses in the Geezer’s ancient brain would fire. No such luck! The old boy must have forgotten the Thanksgiving Day debacle. He made a feeble attempt at forging a logical decision. His reasoning, “I won’t have to drive, I won’t have to drive in traffic, I won’t disappoint Mrs. G ’cause she wants to have the party, I won’t have to drive at night, and…ah…ah…I won’t have to drive.” Of course, I could have pointed out that he simply watch the game with Mrs. Gator, the cats, and me. Once the Mrs. planted the thought Super Bowl equals Party, his mental wiring was short circuited.
I guess I should be honest. The thought of all the goodies that were sure to be tossed my way tempted me into silence. My begging is irresistible. If the Gators were willing to “deja vue” the whole Turkey Day mess, why interfere?
The blowout’s last minute nature started the problems. They had 3 days to get ‘er done. Who should they ask and how could they get ready in time? They made a list that included the usual suspects. Translation- their close friends. Mrs. G thought she should go ahead and buy groceries for the five couples they intended to have over. She was busy scribbling the list before the first guest was invited, relegated making the invites to Geezer, and left for the store as he began calling.
A fateful comment started the apocalypse. Geezer asked, “What should I do if someone can’t make it?” Mrs. G answered, “Just invite someone else, like from the neighborhood.” Dumb-da-dumb-dumb.
Number one and two on the list said they’d love to come, but they’d already accepted invites elsewhere. Number three was an answering machine so he left a message. Number four was a repeat of one and two. The panic button was on full mash as Geezer dialed the last of the list. A gracious acceptance made him feel better. But not much. He grabbed the phone book and started dialing neighbors.
His first call went to a neighbor who was sure to accept. Geezer calls him “Freddy the Free-loader,” after an old Red Skelton (whoever that is)character . The man’s motto is, “Ask not what I might bring to the party, but tell me what I’ll be able to consume.” After reviewing the first couple menu items the Geezer got an enthusiastic yes.
The next call compounded the Geezer’s problem. The lady explained that they were planning on going to Mrs. Zoomers’ house for the game. I’ve told you about Zoomers some time ago; she’s the lady who flatters the Geezer’s ego and has breasts the size of watermelons. The lady suggested Geezer talk Mrs. Zoomers into moving her mini-party to our house. Geezer did, she said she would, and she’d bring what food she was going to make, however, case not quite closed. The old boy never asked an important question; how many guests would be added?
Encouraged by three for three on invites, he resumed looking for couple 5. After 4 successive turn-downs, he was out of neighbors he knew reasonably well and his finger pressed the panic button once more. Should he ask some people who just moved in a month before? It’d be a chance to get to know them. He got their number from information and called. A lady answered. Geezer introduced himself, welcomed them to the neighborhood, and made the invite. The woman said they’d love to party, but their children were visiting from up North, would it be alright for them to come? The Geezer didn’t hesitate or think either, “Sure the more the merrier.” Certainly those rank high in the category of Famous Last Words.
When Mrs. G returned, Geezer recounted his success. He proudly bragged he’d gotten his 5 couples plus the new neighbors children. Mrs. Gator smiled and said she was glad she’d bought extra food. She did sober a bit when Mrs. Zoomer’s name was mentioned, but that quickly passed.
Fast forward to game day. The first to arrive were couples 1 and 2 that were on the original list. They’d changed their minds and came unannounced, but brought chips and dip. Mrs. G was happy to see them, was glad she’d bought twice the food she thought she’d need, and went through a quick mental inventory of chairs needed.
Before she could dispatch the Geezer for the camping chairs, Mrs Zoomers opened the door and said, “You-whooo, it’s little ol’ me. Where do you want me to put my stuff?” She held a large cardboard container, constantly relocating it, trying to find a comfortable position above or below her momentous balcony.
Mrs. Gator, rushed to her assistance. Looking into the carton she said, “My you didn’t have to bring so much!” Corning ware bowls and plates were crowded into the box.
“I didn’t know how many people you’d have so I just doubled what I made for the 4 couples from my party. My husband has the rest of the stuff I cooked.” She shouted, “Hugo, you coming?”
A voice came from behind another huge box, ”Yes dear.” Hugo was one third Mrs. Zoomers size. His bald head was visible over the top of the next load of vittles.
“I hope you like Mexican, Polish, and Chinese dishes,” Mrs. Zoomers said as she waddled into the house.
And so it went, Freddy the Free-loader and wife came next, sans food, but with two six-packs. Couple number 5 arrived with a big plate of hot wings. They came and came. The front of our house looked like a parking lot. The answering machine couple showed, the other neighbors came, including the new folks, their three girls, the girls husbands, and their 7 children ranging in age from 10 month-old twins to 9 years.
If you do the math that’s 37 butts in a 16 butt living room. That sent the Geezer after additional butt holders. He got 4 camping chairs and 4 deck chairs inside and set up. Mr. G moved his 0ffice seats in the living room and got one from the bedroom. It meant 10 posteriors were destined for the floor. After all settled in, the living room looked like a can of sardines without the oil. Since the party-goers median age was in the 60′s the children and their parents were relegated to the rug.
The problem wasn’t the lack of food, it was the type of snacks the horde began consuming. There were loads of chips: Lays, Cape Cod, Wise, Tostitos, Doritos, salted, unsalted, Onion, Cheddar, Dill Pickle, and Mrs. Zoomers home made bombs. Naturally, people sampled some of each. Naturally, stomachs started to murmur.
Mrs. Zoomer’s nachos were miniature blast furnaces. One brave soul asked for the recipe, which involved four different types of pepper. I’ve always suspected Mrs. Z is a sadist. Anyone sampling her red-hot corn chips sucked a load of beer or anything cold within arms length. Naturally, stomachs shuddered.
The variety of dips was as gut numbing. Of course, there were the standards: French onion, ranch, salsa, spinach, sour cream, queso. But, exotics were available for the brave or foolish. Oysters and shrimp, collard greens, olives and pickles, smoked mullet, and marinated squid were mixed with sour cream, olive oil, Philly Cream Cheese and who knows what else. Naturally, taste buds were curious and stomachs tortured.
Added to the gastric whirlpool were stuffed Jalapenos, onion rings, hot wings, hotter wings, and tongue removal incendiary wings. X-rays would have disclosed white flags in the guests midsections.
Right before the half, Mrs. Gator served the many dishes she’d prepared and the ones graciously provided by the guests. Barbecue, ham, shrimp, cold cuts, and meat balls were joined by lemon baked salmon, sardines with feta cheese, oysters Rockefeller, smoked eel, and steak Tar-Tar. There were veggie trays, quiches of every variety, green bean casserole, and mac and cheese. Besides the more benign items mentioned, there were dishes that defied description. Some were Mrs. Zoomer’s concoctions invented by her fiendish Mexo-Polska mind. Naturally, stomachs rebelled.
Rug abuse commenced shortly after halftime. By this point enough liquor and beer were consummed to effect equilibrium and judgement. The rug’s saga started with a Corona bath. Pepsi, Vernors, Jack and water, Bud Lite, coffee, and a Tequila Sunrise soon followed. This attempt to saturate the carpet with libations continued until the final whistle.
From the mixture mentioned above it’s evident many of the guests were snockered or well on the way. The results– predictable. Freddie the Free-loader was the 1st. His zeal to consume was matched by his stomach’s feel to exhume. “Ralph” on the rug! The combination of used beer, wine, bourbon, barbecue, smoked eel, oysters Rockefeller, and less identifiable items landed on the beige weave in a modern art mosaic. One of the new neighbor’s daughters was pregnant, and Freddie’s act demanded that she puke in sympathy. Hers was mostly ham and quiche, but added to the artistic masterpiece.
The rugs coupe de gr-as came as an indirect result of the mother-to-be’s problem. Her two 10 month-olds decided this was the precise moment to do what babies do best– fill diapers. Unfortunately, their efforts went unnoticed for several minutes. The odor delivered the message and the embarrassed father tried to make amends by quickly changing the soiled Pampers. He did fine until maneuvering through the throng sitting on the carpet. Papa stumbled and one heavily loaded missile did a two and half landing guess where? It was good that the day was pleasant outside for windows had to be opened and fans turned on to make conditions tenable for the queasy digestive tracks of those remaining for Pittsburgh’s last great drive.
After the last guests vacated, Mrs. G and the Geezer surveyed the carnage. She said, “I don’t know where to start.”
The Geezer shook his head, thought for a few seconds and said, “Didn’t you say you were tired of that rug? That’s one good thing about area rugs, even big ones. They’re easy to replace.”
“I would like to change…”
“Help me move the furniture.” The Geezer started tussling with the sofa. Before bedtime the rolled and reeking rug was outside. Geezer is good about such things.
Well, my Super bowl report ends with two scores — Pittsburgh 27, Arizona 23 and Guests 37 butts, 1 Rug to the dump.