Sunday, April 13, 2008

Twixt Monday & Tuesday........

"Have a good day Honey....pick ya up at 5:00....."


Susan Gertson sent me this a few days back, and although I've seen it before in a little bit different format and wording, I thought I'd post it fer those of y'all who might enjoy it.....mostly those of ya that grew up in the 50's and 60's.....

Long ago and far away, in a land that time forgot,
Before the days of Dylan, or the dawn of Camelot.
There lived a race of innocents, and they were you and me,

For Ike was in the White House in that land where we were born,
Where navels were for oranges, and Peyton Place was porn.

We learned to gut a muffler, we washed our hair at dawn,
We spread our crinolines to dry in circles on the lawn.

We longed for love and romance, and waited for our Prince,
And Eddie Fisher married Liz, and no one's seen him since.
We danced to 'Little Darlin,' and sang to 'Stagger Lee'
And cried for Buddy Holly in the Land That Made Me , Me.

Only girls wore earrings then, and 3 was one too many,
And only boys wore flat-top cuts, except for Jean McKinney.

And only in our wildest dreams did we expect to see
A boy named George with Lipstick, in the Land That Made Me , Me.

We fell for Frankie Avalon, Annette was oh, so nice,
And when they made a movie, they never made it twice.

We didn't have a Star Trek Five, or Psycho Two and Three,
Or Rocky-Rambo Twenty in the Land That Made Me , Me.

Miss Kitty had a heart of gold, and Chester had a limp,
And Reagan was a Democrat whose co-star was a chimp.

We had a Mr. Wizard, but not a Mr. T ,
And Oprah couldn't talk, yet, in the Land That Made Me , Me.

We had our share of heroes, we never thought they'd go,
At least not Bobby Darin, or Marilyn Monroe.

For youth was still eternal, and life was yet to be,
And Elvis was forever in the Land That Made Me , Me.

We'd never seen the rock band that was Grateful to be Dead,
And Airplanes weren't named Jefferson, and Zeppelins were not Led.

And Beatles lived in gardens then, and Monkee's lived in trees,
Madonna was a virgin in the Land That Made Me , Me.

We'd never heard of microwaves, or telephones in cars,
And babies might be bottle-fed, but they weren't grown in jars.

And pumping iron got wrinkles out, and 'gay' meant fancy-free,
And dorms were never coed in the Land That Made Me , Me.

We hadn't seen enough of jets to talk about the lag,
And microchips were what was left at the bottom of the bag.

And Hardware was a box of nails, and bytes came from a flea,
And rocket ships were fiction in the Land That Made Me , Me.

Buicks came with portholes, and side shows came with freaks,
And bathing suits came big enough to cover both your cheeks.

And Coke came just in bottles, and skirts below the knee,
And Castro came to power near the Land That Made Me , Me.

We had no Crest with Fluoride, we had no Hill Street Blues,
We had no patterned pantyhose or Lipton herbal tea
Or prime-time ads for condoms in the Land That Made Me , Me.

There were no golden arches, no Perrier to chill,
And fish were not called Wanda, and cats were not called Bill.

And middle-aged was 35 and old was forty-three,
And ancient were our parents in the Land That Made Me , Me.

But all things have a season, or so we've heard them say,
And now instead of Maybelline we swear by Retin-A.

They send us invitations to join AARP,
We've come a long way, baby, from the Land That Made Me , Me.

So now we face a brave new world in slightly larger jeans,
And wonder why they're using smaller print in magazines.

And we tell our children's children of the way it used to be,
Long ago and far away in the Land That Made Me , Me.


OK Mates....if'n yur drinkin coffee or some other beverage, I suggest y'all put it down before readin this here story that Susan Gertson just sent me, otherwise y'all just might wind up with a wet keyboard...

A chili story…

I went grocery shopping recently while not being altogether sure that course of action was a wise one. You see, the previous evening I had prepared and consumed a massive quantity of my patented ‘You’re definitely going to shit yourself’ chili. Tasty stuff, albeit hot to the point of being painful, which comes with a written guarantee from me that if you eat it, the next day both of your a$$ cheeks WILL fall off.

Here’s the thing. I had awakened that morning, and even after two cups of coffee (and all of you know what I mean) nothing happened. No ‘Watson’s Movement 2′.

Despite harbanera peppers swimming their way through my intestinal tract, I appeared to be unable to create the usual morning symphony referred to by my next door neighbors as "thunder and lightning".

Knowing that a time of reckoning had to come, yet not sure of just when, I bravely set off for the market; a local Wal-Mart grocery store that I often haunt in search of tasty tidbits.

Upon entering the store at first all seemed normal. I selected a cart and began pushing it about dropping items in for purchase. It wasn’t until I was at the opposite end of the store from the restrooms that the pain hit me. Oh, don’t look at me like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m referring to that ‘Uh oh, gotta go’ pain that always seems to hit us at the wrong time. The thing is, this pain was different.

The habaneras in the chili from the night before were staging a revolt. In a mad rush for freedom they bullied their way through the small intestines, forcing their way into the large intestines, and before I could take one step in the direction of the restrooms which would bring sweet relief, it happened. The peppers fired a warning shot.

There I stood, alone in the spice and baking aisle, suddenly enveloped in a noxious cloud the likes of which has never before been recorded. I was afraid to move for fear that more of this vile odor might escape me. Slowly, oh so slowly, the pressure seemed to leave the lower part of my body, and I began to move up the aisle and out of it, just as an elderly woman turned into it.

I don’t know what made me do it, but I stopped to see what her reaction would be to the malodorous effluvium that refused to dissipate, as she walked into it unsuspecting. Have you ever been torn in two different directions emotionally? Here’s what I mean, and I’m sure some of you at least will be able to relate.

I could’ve warned that poor woman but didn’t. I simply watched as she walked into an invisible, and apparently indestructible, wall of odor so terrible that all she could do before gathering her senses and running, was to stand there blinking and waving her arms about her head as though trying to ward off angry bees. This, of course, made me feel terrible, but then made me laugh. Mistake.

Here’s the thing. When you laugh, it’s hard to keep things ‘clamped down’, if you know what I mean. With each new guffaw an explosive issue burst forth from my nether region. Some were so loud and echoing that I was later told a few folks in other aisles had ducked, fearing that someone was robbing the store and firing off a shotgun.

Suddenly things were no longer funny. IT was coming, and I raced off through the store towards the restrooms, laying down a cloud the whole way, praying that I’d make it before the grand mal assplosion took place.

Luck was on my side. Just in the nick of time I got to the john, began the inevitable ‘Oh my God’, floating above the toilet seat because my ass is burning SO BAD, purging.

One poor fellow walked in while I was in the middle of what is the true meaning of ‘Shock and Awe’. He made a gagging sound, and disgustedly said, ‘Sonofabitch!’, then quickly left.

Once finished I left the restroom, reacquired my partially filled cart intending to carry on with my shopping when a store employee approached me and said, ‘Sir, you might want to step outside for a few minutes. It appears some prankster set off a stink bomb in the store. The manager is going to run the vent fans on high for a minute or two which ought to take care of the problem.’

That of course set me off again, causing residual gases to escape me. The employee took one sniff, jumped back pulling his shirt up to cover his nose and, pointing at me in an accusing manner shouted, ‘IT’S YOU!’, then ran off returning moments later with the manager. I was unceremoniously escorted from the premises and asked none too kindly not to return.

Home again without having shopped, I realized that there was nothing to eat but leftover chili, so I consumed two more bowls. The next day I went to shop at Albertson’s. I can’t say anymore about that because we are in court over the whole matter. Bastards claim they’re going to have to repaint the store..

....and CSSSCC frum Tampa sends us this photo montage regarding.....


Look Closely.....

Keep looking.......

See it now?

Ya got to love the Marines.

If you don't stand behind our troops, please feel free
to stand in front of them.

For those of you who may not be completely aware of John Hinckley, who he is, what he did, and why, here's a little history. John Hinckley was a seriously deranged young man who shot President Reagan many years back. John was absolutely obsessed with movie star Jodie Foster, and extremely jealous as well, and in his twisted mind, loved Jodie Foster to the point that to make himself known to her, attempted to assassinate President Reagan.

With that in mind…the staff at the mental facility treating John Hinckley reports intercepting the following letter from Bill Clinton:

To: John Hinckley

From: Bill Clinton

Dear John,

Hillary and I wanted to drop you a short note to tell you how pleased we are with the great strides you are making in your recovery. In our country’s new spirit of understanding and forgiveness, we want you to know there is a bilateral consensus of compassion and forgiveness abroad throughout the land.

Hillary and I want you to know that no grudge is borne against you for shooting President Reagan. We, above all, are aware of how the mental stress and pain could have driven you to such an act of desperation. Hillary and I are confident that you will soon make a complete recovery and return to your family to join the world again as a healthy and productive young man.

Best wishes,

Bill & Hillary Clinton

PS: Barack Obama is fucking Jodie Foster.

One day, the wife comes home with a spectacular diamond ring.

“Where did you get that ring?” her husband asks.

“Well,” she replies, “My boss and I played the lotto and we won, so bought it with my share of the winnings.”

A week later, his wife comes home with a long shiny fur coat.

“Where did you get that coat?” her husband asks.

She replies “My boss and I played the lotto and we won again,
so I bought it with my share of the innings.”

Another week later, his wife comes home, driving a flaming red Ferrari.

“How could you afford that car?” her husband asks.

You guessed it, Her share of the lotto winnings!
That night, the wife asks her husband to run her a nice warm bath while she gets undressed.

When she enters the bathroom,she finds that there is barely enough water in the bath to cover the plug.

“What’s this?” she asks her husband.

“Well,” he replies, “we don’t want to get your lotto ticket wet, do we?!”