Category Archives: Humor

Just Two Little Letters — 2

~Disclaimer: This is the second satirical post and only meant to entertain, maybe even cause a grin, snicker or smile.  The first post is here.  And yes, there are ALWAYS exceptions.  For the record, no words were injured in the writing of this post, so please don’t injure the writer. (Wink, wink.) ~

It’s weird! Men and women have fun differently!  Granted, there’s no hard and fast rule, but generally the pendulum swings two ways.

Men feel friendship with other guys by doing stuff together.  Here goes:

Two men. They get up at 3:15 AM in cold weather, and meet 3:45 AM sharp at a gas station.  They go inside, fill their thermoses with coffee and get in a truck together.

“Good morning”, one says.

“Morning”, says the other. Continue reading Just Two Little Letters — 2

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Just Two Little Letters — 1

Writer’s note! This is satirical and not intended to insult two particular groups, men or women.  OK, I guess this runs the risk to offend everybody, but still, it is written with a wink., smile and laugh. Any similarity to any person, past, present or future is strictly coincidental…

Two letters! That’s all. Man. Wo-man.  Same species, I think. But galaxies apart!

I’m in a chain email group with 6 or 7 high school buddies. When the first email starts, a series of rude comments and insults ensue, much to the delight of all!

When we actually see each other, the greetings among our guy friends includes a hand shake or a bear hug, seldom both.

Bear hugs, however, must be in accordance with the Guy Book of Rules.  Any violation of these imaginary rules results in loss of  “guy points”.  Multiple violations may result in permanent loss of the “man card”.

Rule 17 in the book, section 2, bullet 3, subset 4(a), clearly states that IF you hug a guy instead of shaking his hand, it’s very brief. I mean, break a china glass on the floor brief. And never, ever, ever more than a second.  In fact, prolonged hugs, according to subset 5(d), can result into a justified fist fight. Continue reading Just Two Little Letters — 1

Coffee House Blues

I have one vice, coffee.

Coffee is God’s special gift!  On the sixth day God made man, but decided he needed help, so God topped creation with an exclamation point, a woman!

But God leaned back tapping His chin thinking just one more something special was needed, so He made the coffee bean.  He sat back and said, “It is good!”  I’m pretty sure that’s how it reads in Genesis.

Anytime, anyplace, anywhere, anyway, coffee is good!

Granted, it’s probably not the best thing for lunch, but occasionally I drive through the local coffee shop window for a cup of life nectar as a lunch substitute.

The tall, skinny guy taking my order had dark hair curling from under his toboggan.  He had a piercing through his eye brow and a tongue stud that clicked when he talked.  He wore a “Save the Whales” t-shirt that was too tight and a big wide belt that had holes riveted all the way around it. Continue reading Coffee House Blues

Philosophy of a One

My daughter said she was thinking about taking a college philosophy class.

I swallowed, hard.

My exposure to Philosophy 101 in college was a single day many moons ago.  I figured it was going to be a blow off elective course. I mean, easy, right?

But when the sweater wearing professor came in with pointed shoes, coke bottle glasses and five pens in his pocket protector, well, there’s your sign.

He walked straight to the lectern, cleared his throat and started.

He didn’t introduce himself, say hi, nothing.

He could have at least said, “Hey y’all! What a dad gum good lookin’ class this is! I’m Professor Nerdman, and this here is Philosophy 101! You’ll all need this textbook I’m holdin’ up right here and I’m passin’ round a syllabus for ya now.” Continue reading Philosophy of a One

31 Years, 3 Months, 1 Week, 2 Days

“You’re going to cry when I graduate, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

That was enough to satisfy my youngest daughter, Jessica, back in September. She’s the last of my eight children to graduate high school.

She graduated Friday.

We have a few college graduations left, but by and large, the work is done. The time is finished. The investment complete.

I cried, not why she thought I would, but I cried… Continue reading 31 Years, 3 Months, 1 Week, 2 Days

Push, Push!

“Breath! Breath deep!”, the nurse said.  “Good! Control your breaths. Control. Breath deep. Control!”

The deep breaths continue until the pain momentarily subsides.  No class, no education, no preparation can adequately prepare someone for the pain.  Sure, it wouldn’t be forever, but right then, in that moment, it feels like it will never end.

Sharp, awful waves migrate from the back and end in the private area of the body.  It’s so intense that all appearances, inhibitions and concern for dignity flies straight out the window.  Nothing short of hope and relief from the excruciating pain can bring comfort.

The nurse, a seasoned veteran, has seen it all, yet she never consistently predicts the responses beforehand.  A sonogram gives the approximate size, length and weight beforehand, but everyone’s different, so there’s no way to know up front how long or what the response may be. Continue reading Push, Push!

Welcome to the Bee Box

It started as a wild hair.  I moved a swarm of bees at work to keep them away from some employees who are deathly allergic.

Besides, bees are important to the environment, so you don’t want to kill them.  I learned along the way how to get a swarm to relocate them.  At first, it was a fiasco, but after moving a few over a couple of years, I got better.

Not to be a braggart, although it’s bragging, but not a prideful bragging, just an accomplishment bragging….OK, so I’m tooting my horn with a fog horn beecause I did it beeuatifully!

And, (brag, brag) I’ve only been stung once a couple of years ago when one got under my hard hat.  That bee kamikazed its stinger right in the bald spot!  Yeah. It hurt! Big red lump on the bald spot for a week!

The wild hair (no pun intended) has turned into an interest.  I bought a bee box from a feed store and waited. Patiently. Continue reading Welcome to the Bee Box

Little Rascal Soccer

Anticipation was high. All the mother’s anxiety was higher.

Water bottles? Check.  Halftime orange slices? Check.  After game snacks and juice boxes? Check.

Spectators set up lawn chairs battling for the best open places on the sidelines. This would be an epic contest, one replayed on family home movies for years to come.

Coaches were nervous. After all, their reputations were on the line. If their teams didn’t perform, well it would be obvious to everyone, and most importantly themselves, that they were failures as coaches, maybe even failures at life, like, forever!

The referee wanted to take control of the game of four-year olds in 4 vs. 4 game that doesn’t require World Cup refs.  It didn’t matter.  His nervous habit of rubbing his acne took the air out of his mystique. Plus, he was only thirteen, 5 feet tall and maybe 97 pounds.

The players weren’t stressed a bit.  Although two players had to go potty before the game. Probably just nervous energy.

Continue reading Little Rascal Soccer

Grocery Store Delimma

My first career was in public mental health, including the part where people are committed to state psychiatric hospitals.  I met a lot of super nice people during this time from law enforcement to medical personnel to social workers to the clients themselves.  Truly, everyone needs a little help from a friend at times.  That’s life.

Many I knew on a first name basis because they were in and out of the clinic, and most became friends on a professional basis.  Even when they were struggling, you couldn’t help but like them!  One was an older lady who was intelligent, charming and graceful.

She quit her meds though and shortly thereafter, her family brought her in.  It was bad enough she had to go to the state hospital for her own safety.

After she got out of the hospital, she was back to her charming self.

We always got along well, but after the commitment, she decided she didn’t like me anymore. Not one, single, BIT! Continue reading Grocery Store Delimma

Flea Market Flea Bag

Seven years ago, my oldest daughter wanted a little pet.  An inside cat was out of the question.  So was a dog. At least until I had a momentary lapse of sanity.

We went to a flea market to look around. If I’d known how things were about to play out, I would’ve walked right by the old woman sitting under a shade tree selling puppies.

She was selling little breeds. Without hesitation, all four daughters zeroed in like heat seeking missiles to a cage with four puppies, half Chihuahua, half Japanese Chin.

Half Chihuahuas!  God made Chihuahuas as a practical joke on rats. They’re noisy, obnoxious, cranky little animals that on their best day look genetically defective.

These, however, looked like the furry Japanese Chin part. Before I knew it, the heat seeking missiles exploded.  Shawnna was holding the runt of the litter, all nine weeks old, in the palm of her hand talking to it like it was a little baby.

I’m convinced now the old lady selling them set the hook right then. I just didn’t know it right then. Continue reading Flea Market Flea Bag