Tags: Books, Congress, dogs, Humor, life, Media, Politics, publishing, Reading, Writing
The Geezer and I were watching TV this morning. As usual, the Geezer was tuned to the news in the off chance that someone in government…or in major corporations… or even within the media, did something to give us a little faith things would be alright.
The first three items covered were:
- High-ranking bank officials were reengaging in the same lending practices (making housing loans to those who couldn’t afford it) that destroyed the country’s economy. You know, those folks that are “too big to fail.” Humans don’t seem to understand that when you reward bad behavior with a bailout or something similar it encourages more of the same. Every mommy dog I know has better sense than to let her pups get away with manure like that.
- Those paragons of virtue, Congress and the President, quietly gutted the insider trader law that was passed a year ago (before the election). You know, the one that kept them from benefiting from having government information that would effect future fortunes of a stock. Remember, the one our President said, “Was overdue” and that, “Congress should be playing by the same rules as any other citizen.” Well, we have bipartisanship at last – Both parties passed and the President signed the bill that effectively repealed the law. They sneaked it through quietly, notice that?
- The Geezer changed channels trying to lessen his depression. A media type was explaining why it was fine to allow government officials to eavesdrop on innocent private citizens email without the protection the constitution provides, while it wasn’t okay for law enforcement to continue to question a guilty terrorist to protect the rest of us. And they say dogs are dumb. We are consistent…we always bark at the postman.
The Geezer sadly shook his head, turned off the TV, and turned on the stereo. He mumbled, “I’d say the country is going to the dogs, but I know they’d do a better job running it than the idiots of BOTH parties who run it today.” I agree him…that’s true.
I remembered a bit of wisdom from one of the Geezer’s own books and I repeated it to him.
“It’s no coincidence that big-shot and big-shit are almost spelled the same.”
Tags: Books, conservative, Current events, dogs, Humor, liberal, life, Politics, Reading, Writing
I asked my human, “What are you working on, Geezer?”
He chuckled, “I’m thinking of going back into business.”
“Custom tee shirts. I’m thinking of taking advantage of all the political mud-slinging. I’ll sell them on the Internet.” He held up three fingers. “One web site for liberals, one for conservatives, and one for folks with common sense that are sick of both of them. Of course, that last site will be large. Unfortunately, the slime bag politicians have been successful in transforming our country. We’re now the Divided States of America. Hate and stupidity, now the norm, are quite a combination.” He shook his head sadly. “I think there are a lot of folks out there that want to scream. I’ll give them a way to do it.”
“Give me some examples,” I said.
“I’ll give you a couple for each one. For the liberals how about a picture of Bush being held on a water board with the caption, How do you like it George? Or how about a tee saying, Big Business or Big Government, which can you vote for? The conservatives would like a poker hand printed on the tee’s front. It would be four aces with the faces of Stalin, Hitler, Mao, and Obama where the suit logo goes in the card’s center. The caption, Four of a kind. Or, try one with a picture of Barack on one side of the shirt with his nose extending across the chest and around the side to the back with a sign hanging from it saying, The new Pinocchio.”
“I’d say you better issue a statement with each sale that you’re not responsible for the riots they’ll cause if anybody wore those in public.” I thought for a second. “Hey! You could introduce a premium shirt with a Kevlar liner inside.” I paused for another second. “You know the whole thing is…well…kind of stupid…you’re pulling my tail aren’t you? You aren’t really going into business.”
“Of course you’re right on both counts, Sandy. That would just be stirring the pot. I can’t think of anything dumber… with the exception of the whole Washington mess.” The Geezer shook his head sadly.
“Amen,” I said. “Things like today’s politics make me glad I’m a canine.” After a few seconds of thought I asked, “Just for giggles…what were the ones you were making for folks like you?
He grinned. “My two favorites. The first one shows a cow’s rear end and on the ground under it is a big soupy pile of manure. An arrow points to it with a one word caption. Washington. The second is Bush and Obama, tied to a stake in the middle of a bonfire with devils poking them with pitchforks. A sign on the stake says HELL. Under it the caption reads, A dream now, but just wait a while.”
“Gosh, Geezer those would be million sellers!”
Tags: Books, dogs, Humor, life, New Years, Politics, publishing, Reading, Writing
My human, the Geezer, has given up on New Year’s resolutions and has substituted “hopes” in their place. That sounds like one of his rare good ideas so I’ve decided to subscribe to it. Here are some doggie wishes for my canine friends and me for 2013.
1. Fleas and ticks will genetically evolve and no longer have a taste for dog’s blood. Instead, they will develop a craving for selective types of human plasma. I have some suggestions. How about tax collectors, some lawyers, and most particularly, all politicians. They’ve sucked blood from everybody else for so long that only seems fair.
2. The winners of the Westminster Dog Show get to make their owners, trainers and handlers put leashes around their necks and are they’re forced to run around the ring like idiots while we hold the ropes.
3. The FHA adds dog houses to the growing list of entitlements the Federal Government is distributing. It’s only fair all dogs are given free dog houses. After all, we all breathe, don’t we? That seems to be the standard these days. Let’s see…I want two swimming pools, a four car garage, a vibrating bed, and a vault for my food stamps.
4. The price of dog food doesn’t sky-rocket like the cost of everything else will because of the human fools that are running the country. I think I’ll have to classify that in the vain hope category.
5. All dogs will be given a place at the human meal table so we get a fair share. Either that or all humans can get down and all fours and eat the dog food they feed us. That’s probably more likely…human’s are driving their cars in reverse now days.
6. Any human that abuses or abandons a canine will develop painful boils on 95% of their bodies for which there is no cure. Oh, and their hair falls out. Oh, oh, and they have to watch and listen to the Ed Show and the O’Reilly Factor played continuously on a split screen 75″ TV with the sound turned up to 250 decibels, until they start gouging their own ears and eyes out. Oh, oh, oh, and they fall off a boat in shark and crocodile infested waters. I’ll share that hope with cats, horses, hamsters, or any other type pet that humans abuse.
7. That all the fireplugs are replaced with replicas of the White House and Capitol Building so we can do to them what they’ve been doing to our humans.
8. That there is a prohibition placed on importing Chinese cookbooks. I enjoy eating dinner, not being it.
9. My human drops my dinner dish and breaks it. And…he can only buy one that’s at least twice as large.
10. That we canines have the good sense to remain our doggie selves and don’t try to become more like (shudder) humans. I think that’s a very safe hope. After all, only humans are stupid and vain enough to want to be what they’re not!
Have A Happy Canine New Year!
Tags: Books, Cooking, dogs, Humor, life, Politics, publishing, Reading, Writing
I have a broken heart. Romanski hasn’t called. He hasn’t written or even emailed me. I’ve been mopping around the house…waiting…hoping. If you missed my previous post, Romanski is a handsome Golden Retriever I met on my recent trip. I’ve been in such a funk it was noticeable to the Geezer. It usually takes an anvil to fall on him before he notices such things.
“Sandy, what’s wrong old girl?” he asked.
“Old girl, aren’t you calling the kettle black?” I retorted.
“My aren’t we touchy today. That’s just a term of endearment, Sandy. I’m not really saying you’re old.”
Humans have the weirdest way of communicating. “My friend,” certainly would have been a more appropriate way to address me. We females are sensitive about being called old. Homo sapiens have hundreds of ways of nibbling around the edges of what they want to communicate. In Doganese, Woof is Woof, Arf is Arf, and Grrrr is Grrrr. Why complicate matters? I started to lecture him on the value of concise clear conversation, but I didn’t have the patience to deal with human mental deficiency at the time. Besides, he’s been subjected to so much rhetoric from TV political ads and programs I’m sure his mind is warped and has contracted into a protective shell. One needs a bull-shit deflector to stand anywhere near a television that’s operating these days. I decided to give the old codger a break.
“I know you weren’t trying to offend me, Geezer. I’ve just been a bit upset and disappointed lately,” I said.
“Really? I’m sorry to hear that. I hope it’s nothing I’ve done.”
“No. It’s something you had nothing to do with.”
“Do you mind me asking what it is?”
“I really don’t want to talk about it,” I lied. I really did. It helps to chat about your emotional issues even if you have to do it with a human…male.
“You sure, Sandy? One of the only good things about getting old is that you’ve experienced enough to give good advice. I certainly qualify as old.” The Geezer was using his most fatherly tone.
“I don’t need advice as much as a shoulder to cry on.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Remember when we stopped at the Welcome Station in Tennessee? I met Romanski, remember him?”
“I’m so sorry.” The Geezer had that, ‘oh, that’s how it is,’ look he gets occasionally. I just plain don’t like that look. He noticed I wasn’t impressed and quickly changed his expression. “He hasn’t called?”
“No. Not a word from him in any way. He seemed so sincere when we strolled around the parking lot. He made so many promises. Anything I said I wanted from life, he did too. Romanski looked into my eyes and told me it was one of those one- in-a-thousand love-at-first-sight things. I believed him and poured my heart out to him. Now……..”
“Sandy, don’t feel bad. You’re not the first lady, or for that matter, man, that’s been led astray in a parking lot or just while parked.” The Geezer shook his head sadly. “Those are what I call Parking Lot Lies.”
“Well, at least I wasn’t the first person to be told what they wanted to hear so a scum-bag could try to get what he wanted.”
“Gosh, Geezer, Romanski reminds me of one of those politicians I hear you listening to on TV.”
“That’s exactly right, Sandy! They’re both trying to screw us!”
Tags: animal tales, Books, Cooking, dogs, Entertainment, food, Fox & Friends, funny stories, Humor, life, Media, Politics, publishing, Reading, Writing
There was a meeting of the neighborhood Canine Chowder and Ham Bone Marching Society yesterday. Most of our members were present due to a large yard party for all the “snowbirds” (Human folks that live in Florida in the winter and travel North in the summer.) who were getting ready to depart like a flock of geese.
Of course, over half our Society’s members accompany their humans on the annual migration. Sparkle the Irish Setter commented, “Well, I’ll be looking forward to seeing you all, next fall.”
“It seems as though I’m always moving. I bet I did it in a previous life,” Lucy the Cocker Spaniel moaned.
“You guys believe in that shit?” Peter the Pointer saw the blank stares and added, “Reincarnation.”
“Oui. I certainly do. I can even tell you about at least one of my previous lives.” Our French Poodle, Fifi, is into all the metaphysical stuff. “I was a Doberman ten lives ago, serving in the German Army. I received metals and was a bonified heroine.”
“Huhh!” Sarge scoffed. His German shepherd blood was aroused. “Yeh, Fifi, was your uniform a toto? What did you have for rations? Champagne? Escargo? Did you have a maid to dress you in the morning? You couldn’t have learned to be as snobbish as you are now in fifteen previous lives.”
Peter said, “I’d pay to see you in a hand-to-hand combat drill.”
There was a chorus of laughs. Fifi stuck her nose in the air and walked away in a huff.
“Wait a minute. Wait a minute. I remember a previous life, too,” Manny the chihuahua said. “I was the personal companion to Santa Anna, the great Mexican leader.”
“Uh-huh.” Sarge didn’t look convinced. “Were you his guard dog?”
“Oh yes, si, certainly.”
Peter asked, “If somebody tried to attack old Santa Anna, what was your plan? Bite them on the big toe?”
“Oh no. I was a mastiff in that life. I was a mucho grande dog.” Manny tried squaring his shoulders and looking large.
Before Peter or Sarge could humiliate the little guy, Opie our Scotty and resident scholar interceded. “There is a possible scientific explanation for reincarnation. At least, in the same species. DNA. It’s the building block of life. The potential to hand down memories through parental lineage is certainly a possibility.”
That made us all think. Some could rationalize the theory. Some stared at Manny, visualized a mastiff, and had trouble s-t-r-e-t-c-h-i-n-g the reality. That would make for a difficult parental “chain.”
“Sometimes, I do think I remember things– Well, I might have been Rin Tin Tin in a former life,” Sarge said.
“Yes, I’m believing that.” Fifi had rejoined our group. “And I believe elephants can fly and will be jet propelled if they eat enough beans and cabbage and drink enough beer.”
Sarge growled and Fifi snarled back, so I decided to change the subject to humans, something we could all discuss without ruffling neck hair. “Well, I can certainly see that possibility in my human. The Geezer probably descended from Mark Twain. They’re both writers, have a strong awareness of human behavior, and a good sense of humor.”
“Oh, and my human probably has Lady Godiva in her blood line. She loves to go naked.” Sparkle was doing her best to support me and lead the conversation in another direction.
“Oh. Oh. Oh. I bet I know who my human’s great, great, great, great, great, grand-mother was.” Manny was so excited I thought the little guy would pop like a firecracker. “She has to be descended from Catherine the Great because all she wants to do is fu–”
“Hmmmmmm!” I interrupted. “No exposing family secrets here.” I did another switcheroo. “Wouldn’t it be fun to guess who famous people are reincarnated from?”
“I can see General Petraeus being the reincarnation of Alexander the Great,” Opie said.
“Oh. Oh. Oh. How about Queen Elizabeth the II being the reincarnation of Queen Elizabeth the I?” Manny was getting it.
”I bet both Nancy Pelosi and Sarah Palin had a common ancestor,” Lucy quipped. “Attila the Hun.”
Everyone laughed except for Heintz, the neighborhood mut. He said, “Well, that explains a lot. Both Bush and Obama must have the same ancestry.”
“How’s that?” I asked through my giggles. Heintz was serious.
“That’s easy. Trace them back through Nero, you know, the guy who fiddled while Rome burned, to that famous Greek leader. What was his name?” Heintz scratched his head with his rear paw hoping to stimulate his cerebral cortex. Or maybe a flea.
“Plato?” I suggested.
“No.” Heintz kept scratching.
“Socrates?” Sarge asked.
“No, no, no.” Suddenly Heintz’s eyes shone and he stopped scratching. “I remember. It was the king of the city-state of Bankruptkus, Idious the Imbecile.”
Not one of us spoke. First, none of us are Greek scholars. Second, it was too logical to refute.
(Thanks to Lady Marilyn Kaye, one of my readers for the inspiration)
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, dogs, Election, Entertainment, Fox & Friends, funny stories, Humor, life, Media, Politics, publishing, Reading
I’ve never been to a better attended meeting of the neighborhood Canine Marching and Ham Bone Society. Fourteen of our sixteen members had assembled at a yard sale held in the vacant lot down the street. The large gathering of dogs corresponded to the numerous card tables, enormous stacks of stuff, and multitude of loitering humans trampling the grass of my favorite restroom facility.
Those yard sale things are a homo sapiens invention, usually held in front of houses in the ‘hood. Some enterprising human had come up with the idea of getting everyone to bring their stuff to the lot, advertise in the paper, and have a grandiose event. Of course, this Einstein hadn’t thought about the fact everyone would have to clean the stuff up, find something to display it on, haul it there, and, of course, haul it back. After buying cleaning products, a card table that “we can always use,” super glue to fix broken soldiers, and paying for part of the add, most participants were in a breakeven situation at best.
If you’re not familiar with the concept of a yard sale, I’ll explain. First, “Yard Sale,” is a complete misnomer. I’ve never seen or ever heard of a single yard being sold. I think it’s a bait and switch marketing ploy. They’re also called “Garage Sales,” but that title isn’t as popular because even humans with their limited intelligence realize you can’t tear off the garage from the rest of the house.
Basically, a yard sale happens when humans clean their houses. They find things they no longer want. It might be a serving dish with a chip, a fishing reel that doesn’t work, a skirt that miraculously shrunk two sizes without ever being washed, or a painting Uncle Festus gave them to scare roaches away. They consider relegating these items to the trash, but no, their avarice makes them think they might be able convert their unwanted, dare I say it, “junk,” to cash.
Typically, these items go from the household to a heap called, “The I don’t want or use, but I can’t get rid for some stupid reason,” pile in the attic, laundry room, basement, or garage. Those items languish there for a period of time where they deteriorate or become covered with dust to the point their appearance is poor enough to be transferred to the, “I’ll get rid of this at a yard sale,” pile which is a larger and dingier heap.
Watching humans buying things at these sales is instructive. There’s the person who is looking for a specific needed item, or for something that might have value as an antique. It is a very small percentage of these folks for it requires an IQ larger than a little leaguers’ hat size to do this and humans….
There’s a larger group that are there looking for a “bargain.” These folks typically buy something they have absolutely no need for because it’s cheap. They take their purchase to their car, smiling at their treasure, where it will provide its greatest value to them: ballast to keep their car from being sucked up in a tornado.
Another group are the ones I refer to as the “Hagglers.” They enjoy making every penny a contest, trying to get the seller to bend to their will. Hagglers would enjoy participating in a timed toilet paper wiping contest.
A few impulse buyers see things they’ve sold at previous neighborhood sales. Suddenly, a wet blanket of mushy guilt settles over them when they see that artsy carafe shaped like a nude sumo wrestler that Aunt Sally gave them. What if she comes and asks about it? The cycle starts again when a simple lie would suffice, “We used it all the time ’til we broke it.”
Then there are the mindless wanderers, the “Gawkers.” They shuffle around the lot, collecting my doggy dew on their shoes, picking up items, admiring them without the slightest knowledge of what they’re looking at, and buying several items without any reason at all. Well, that’s the human thing to do.
Of course, most of the items purchased at these events have brief lives in dining rooms, kitchens, etc., before finding their way to the, “The I don’t want or use, but I can’t get rid for some stupid reason,” pile. The cycle continues.
At the Canine Marching and Ham Bone Society meeting we discussed what I’ve just described and were about to pass a motion that this was “best evidence” of the lack of gray matter in the human cranium. However, it was scrapped and another unanimously adopted when, Opie, our resident Scotty, said, “I don’t know if that’s best evidence. Consider that most human’s voted for Bush and Obama back to back.”
Tags: animal tales, Books, Congress, dogs, Entertainment, Fox & Friends, Fox News, funny stories, Humor, Politics, publishing, Reading, Writing
One of my dog buddies from our street asked, “How can you put up with that old guy, Sandy?”
I looked at Barbie the neighborhood cocker spaniel and head gossip. I said, “The Geezer? He’s a nice guy. Why would you ask something like that?” My human and Barbie’s were discussing mosquitoes and other irrelevant human subjects while we patiently waited for them to resume our walks.
Barbie got as close to me as she could and whispered in Doganese, “I’ve heard he’s a cannibal!”
I yelped, “What!! Where did you hear that?”
The Geezer Gator bent over to see if I was okay. “You alright girl?” he asked. He doesn’t understand a word of Doganese, though I’ve diligently instructed him in its intricacies. Of course, at times that’s an advantage. This was one of them. I licked a paw and said, “Just a sand-spur, Geezer.” He accepted my excuse and resumed his chat with Barbie’s lady.
I motioned to Barbie and we moved away as far as our leashes would allow. The Geezer is like practically all humans, their comprehension of languages other than those spoken by their species, is zero. Still, the old boy is perceptive and he might have figured out what we were talking about.
I switched back to Doganese as I asked Barbie, “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about. You live in that house.” Barbie looked at the Geezer with disdain.
I said, “No, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Just like most of her breed Barbie was running her mouth, half-cocked.
”Oh. Oh. I ask you, were his grandchildren here last week? His ‘grands’ as he calls them? Huh? Huh?” Barbie was practically panting.
“Yes,” I said.
“And, and, are they here now? Huh? Huh?”
“And, when and where was the last place you saw them? Huh? Huh?” Barbie couldn’t contain her excitement, drooling at what she supposed was juicy gossip.
I thought for a few seconds, replaying the kids visit. “Last Saturday, in the kitchen, before they left to go home,” I answered.
“I knew it! I knew it! I knew it!” Barbie yammered. “You just thought they went home! He actually ate them!”
“Bull shit! How do you get from his ‘grands’ being in the kitchen to the Geezer eating them as the main course?” I shook my head in disbelief.
Barbie narrowed her eyes. “The Geezer confessed to Mrs. Zoomer. Manny, her chihuahua, told Scoop, the labrador retriever, who told Baseer, the afghan hound, who told Heinz, the… well, I’m not sure what he is, who told me in strictest confidence. I had to trade something to get that information.”
“What?” I asked.
“Sex,” Barbie whispered.
It was beginning to make sense. Barbie isn’t the swiftest fish in the canal. “What did Heinz tell you?”
“Heinz said, that Baseer said, that…”
I interrupted, “Skip that, just get to the point.”
Barbie lowered her voice and glanced nervously at the Geezer Gator as she spoke. “The Geezer told Mrs. Zoomer that he really enjoyed eating his Grands with sausage and milk gravy!”
I started laughing so hard I could hardly stand on all four’s. I said, “Barbie, you moron, Grands are a type of biscuit made by Pillsbury. Honey, you’ve been had! Or, let me rephrase–you’ve been screwed!” For she had. About that time, the Geezer and Barbie’s human, who the Geezer calls “The Fantastic Fanny,” broke up their conversation and we went our separate ways.
After we were out of hearing range, the Geezer asked, “What was that all about? You two were giving somebody a hard time. Who was the victim?”
“You. Let me explain.” I retold the story and we both got a good chuckle. I said to the Geezer, “Poor Barbie. Her ethics are non-existent. She’s either stupid or naive. It’s a good thing she owns a nice human. If she had to earn a living I don’t think there’s anything she could do.”
The Geezer rubbed his chin a few times then said, “Maybe there’s a couple positions she could hold.”
“What?” I asked. I couldn’t think of a thing.
“A member of the US House of Representatives or a US Senator.”
“I guess she might qualify for that.” I thought of the leadership in Washington. “Yes, she does. Anything else?”
“If she couldn’t handle one of those jobs, I can only think of one more– based on the last three who held the job, how about President?”
I laughed and nodded my agreement.
The Geezer sighed and added, “There’s only one problem, Sandy.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“After observing Clinton, Bush, and Obama, she’s probably over qualified.
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, Entertainment, Fox & Friends, Humor, life, Politics, publishing, Reading, Writing
THE ECONOMY!!!!!! Before any of you scream, “Oh no!!! NOT another one of those political rants disguised as humor!” I’m happy to say this has nothing to do with politics or the sub-human species that practice them.
The Geezer and I agreed, soon after we started this blog, to stay away from heavy-duty politi-comment. Our jottings are primarily devoted to reading enjoyment, writing, humor, books, publishing, and of course, dogs. Well, actually animals. The Geezer is one opinionated old fogey, but he’s wise enough to have a separate blog to express his thoughts for those looking for such, dare I say it, manure.
To be honest, we did a little when we started the blog, but quickly abandoned the practice after READING some of the tripe, left and right, masquerading as humor. I have a visual of the people producing this *#@&!. They all have very long, very thin faces so their minds will fit in the very narrow space. The Geezer and I decided that’s fine in a political, liberal, conservative, etc.,etc., tagged blog, but not as an imposition on readers who just want to laugh. So…onward!
Several days ago the Geezer decided that he’d sell the stuff he was clearing out from under the house. The cleaning was a bi-product of one of the Geezer’s New Year’s Resolutions I wrote about, remember? Anyway, when he told me his plan, I asked, “How you gonna do that?”
“I’m going to hold a garage sale,” he said.
“A what??” Our garage is under our house, I couldn’t figure…
“You know, a yard sale!” The Geezer squinted at me. He looked perplexed, like I should know how he could sell either without our moving.
I rolled my eyes and ended up looking skyward. “If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked.” I’d figured it out, but decided to make the old boy explain it to me. You have to train humans to express themselves clearly.
“Sandy, a garage sale refers to material that was in the garage, but that you want to dispose…” The Geezer frowned. My smug expression gave me away. “Smart ass!” he said.
I watched the preparations as he spent most of his waking hours opening boxes, sorting, cleaning, polishing, and pricing the “junk.” He bought cleaning chemicals, rags, and brushes. He also bought a couple large folding tables to display the hoard to his would be customers. The stickers he used to put the prices on had to be purchased. When Mrs. G asked how anyone would know we were having the sale, he decided to make signs and put an ad in the local fish wrapper. Mrs. G suggested it would be “nice” to have coffee and tea for people stopping to shop. Mrs. Gator’s wish is the Geezer’s command so he purchased some flavored coffee and tea, creamer, sugar, and Styrofoam cups. After looking at the amounts scribbled on the tags, I shook my head. The Geezer just isn’t an economic genius.
Game day! The people milled around the tables, picked up items, examined them critically, and put them back down. A few bought “stuff,” but generally offered less than what the sticker requested. When the crowd disappeared, Mrs. G packed the left-over material in the pickup and made the trek to Goodwill! That was 2/3rds of what the Geezer started with.
The next day, after he returned from the chiropractor, I asked, “Well, did you make any money?”
He smiled, then winced. His back was very tender. “Yep, I took in $187.47,” he said proudly.
“But how much did it cost you?”
“Let’s see.” The boiler in his cranium began to build up steam. “The tables were $22 each, that’s 44.” He hesitated allowing the engine’s pressure to raise. “Cleaning supplies were $14, coffee and such were…$17, stickers were $3, material for signs $6,” his enthusiasm was waning- reality can do that to you, “two days ad in the paper was $55.” Yes Columbus, the world is round.
“That’s $139. So you made 187.47, less 139, less the cost of the 60 mile trip Mrs. Gator made to Goodwill, say $10. I’m not Einstein, but doesn’t that mean you actually made $38.47?”
The Geezer didn’t look like he retained any thoughts comparing him to Einstein. He did look sheepish. He said, “I’ll rethink my next garage sale before I have one. Or not.”
I wanted to mention the $60 doctor visit, but have learned to keep my muzzle closed when it’s appropriate. Besides, the Geezer’s bad back couldn’t be directly blamed on the garage sale.
As customers milled around the tables, the Geezer was seated in a camping chair and I was lying next to him. He’d tied my leash to the chair’s back, keeping me from creating mischief. So he thought. Up pulls this Cadillac. Directly behind the Geezer’s chair, out steps this male, rich, handsome, endowed, great Dane. Come on, I’ve got hormones! I took off to greet this Adonis. Unfortunately, I forgot about the leash.
Wham!!! When I came to the leash’s end, it slamed the Geezer and chair over backward. He looked like an out-take from one of the “Beethoven” movies. I stopped abruptly when I felt the impact tremor. The Geezer ain’t a light weight. His legs extended upward toward the sun, making a huge letter “V” for the 20 folks who couldn’t help but chuckle. They quickly helped him up and, not being a dumb dog, I quickly was a contrite canine. Or made that appearance.
Still, it was difficult to keep from laughing for a thought had flitted across my mind. It was a good thing the Geezer isn’t Scottish. Imagine the scene if he wore a kilt!