We all have good days and bad days. One can only hope that the good ones outnumber the bad, but there are some tip offs that things are going downhill in a hurry.
We all occasionally need to call tradesmen to keep the house in shape, but you know you are going to have a bad day if, for example in the case of a malfunctioning sink, you call the plumber and he shows up in a brand new Mercedes Benz van.
Let us say you walk into the First National Bank of Harmony County and while doing so you are absent mindedly going through your checkbook and you look up and see that all the customers and employees are laying on the floor with their hands clasped behind their heads. This might not be the best time to try to negotiate a fourth mortgage.
Even we staffers at the Harmony County Weekly Blister can have a bad day. If you walk into the newsroom and all the hacks are bent over their computers or are on the phone chatting away obviously working, it means they are sober. One of two bad things have happened; all the liquor stores and saloons are closed, or once again we are getting sued for libel, and the publisher is steaming mad and his desk is covered with pink slips.
It has been a miserable winter. You have been pinching pennies to save up for a summer vacation at the beach. (The kids eat too much anyway.) The great day finally arrives. You pack the car. Help the skinny kids into the back and off you go to an extremely high rent condo that overlooks the ocean. You kick back in the lounger on the balcony and the doorbell rings. Surprise! It is all of your relatives, some of whom you haven’t seen in years, and they are all carrying suitcases.
Since we are at the beach and to get away from all the uninvited guests you decide to rent a surf board and go for a relaxing paddle. You are out about a half mile from the beach absent mindedly contemplating your sins and about ten yards off three large triangular fins appear and start slowly circling the board.
From time to time we all get ill necessitating a trip to the doctor’s office. So after an hour or so wait you are hustled into an examination room. Another wait follows. Mind you are just feeling mildly out of sorts. Nothing serious, you figure maybe a shot and a prescription ought to cover it. A nurtz comes in and tosses you one of those air-conditioned gowns. Finally the doc arrives and he appears to be distracted. He tells you, “Hop on the table and put your feet in the stirrups.” If you’re a guy you’re in serious trouble.
The topper of them all is to forget an anniversary. Hope you got a comfy couch because you are about to have a bad week.© 2015, Jim McGowan
Now that a really wretched winter is over. It is time to shed the stored up the excess winter insulation, spelled: F-A-T, and get in bikini shape. Well, you guys can get in bikini shape, I really do not look good in a bikini no matter what kind of shape I am in. (The Kilkenny Brothers don’t do the shape thing. They just shed their winter coats which is enough hair to stuff a king sized mattress.)
I have to admit that the only time I was really in shape was back in the Army days when you had to run everywhere and if for some strange reason you were in the same spot for more than thirty seconds you would do pushups. We managed to lower the height above sea level a fair amount by pushing away Fort Bragg.
Nowadays there seems to be a gazillion different schemes and products out there that are supposed to get the weight right off. Some of the claims are ridiculous. I mean nothing short of sawing off a limb is going to take the lard off that quick.
I remember when the first diet drinks, no not booze, came out. The manufacturers promised that the pounds would just melt away. At that time I have to admit I was a blubber-butt and wanted to shed some of the tonnage. So I went out and bought some of these magic drinks. Well, the light and the heavy of it was I put on more weight despite drinking one with every meal, go figure.
Besides the drinks there are a plethora of pills that are out there. Personally I am not a big fan of any pill more complicate then an aspirin. This is in contradiction to the current popular belief that health can be found in a small, yet expensive, bottle. It seems that you could crawl into the Emergency Room with a broken leg, three gunshot wounds and a wolverine clamped down on your throat and all you will get is a pill and a bill roughly equivalent to the GNP of Costa Rica.
Then there are those companies that supply ready to eat diet meals shipped to your door. All you have to do is toss them in the nuke and chow down. I have tasted some of these delights. They make me homesick. They remind me of the Irish chow I grew up on. Have you ever had Irish cooking? No. Have you ever seen a fat Irishman? Trust me, it is impossible to get fat on the downhome Irish cooking. We Harps are good at writing, fighting, singing and rugby, but you will never see an Irish recipe in “Bon Appetite”.
So if you are in the ‘back to bikini’ mode I suggest you do what my MDs tell me. “Don’t do push-ups, do push-aways. Push away the dinner table. And when you get finished doing that, get off your fat *** and move.” Some medics come right to the point. © 2015, Jim McGowan
As you have read here before us journalists are not the highest paid yo-hos around. A perfect example is that no one has ever seen a member of the Fourth Estate pick up a bar tab, ever. However, I have just figured out how I am going to make my fortune! Coming soon to a sleazy saloon near you is the “Talking Hillary Bobble Head Doll”! (Batteries not included, unless you are on welfare or an illegal alien, then the government will buy them for you.)
Of course you have to put in the batteries. This is done by shoving them up her…. Inserting them in the slots indicated, negative end first. Then flip the ‘lie/off’ switch to ‘lie’, slap it in the face, and you are ready to go.
The doll has quite the repertoire. “Hi, my name is Hillary Rodman Clinton. I was named after Sir Edmond Hillary who was the first to climb Mount Everest.” Perhaps, but Sir Edmund was dragged up the world’s tallest rock pile by his Sherpas six years after she was born. Could be that her parents a bit slow in coming to a decision, after all they were Democrats. Slap.
“I understand you because I am just like you.” That might be a stretch, unless you went to private schools, are a Yale graduate, have a law degree, have a personal chef, fly in an personal jet, and make about $200K for every speaking engagement. Somehow I don’t think the lawn guy nor the cop on patrol have those kind of assets. I know I don’t. I’m lucky to take the bus and get a rubber chicken supper at a fast food joint. Slap.
“I was under heavy sniper fire when I landed in Bosnia.” There are a couple of dozens of tapes about that trip. They all show her casually walking from the plane, smiling and doing the usual politician ‘press the meat’ handshakes all around. Seems to me the correct responses to the sniper fire is to hit the dirt and low crawl to cover. The lack of response of the Secret Service agents means either they didn’t care or they knew Bosnia snipers are less than skilled marksmen. Slap.
“My family was dead broke after we left the White House” OK, but the two mansions and the $12,000,000 she and the rest of the crowd made the year after they left might have eased the pain. Besides, beans and rice for a year may get a little boring, but it does keep body and soul together. Just ask her Latino supporters. Slap.
“I brokered the peace in Northern Ireland.” According to the folks around the table Hillary was nowhere to be found. I have to admit that an Irish pub has a great appeal and is hard to leave. Maybe she was calling her advice in. But, these micks are my people and I have to ask, “What peace?” Slap.
Well, I can’t wait until we see her emails to clear this all up. © 2015, Jim McGowan
Have you ever wondered what the difference is between Grandmothers and Grandfathers?:This loving grandfather always made a effort to spend time with his son’s family on weekends. Every Saturday morning he would take his 5-year-old granddaughter out for a drive in the car for some quality time — pancakes, ice cream, candy — just him and his granddaughter.
One particular Saturday, however, he had a terrible cold and could not get out of bed.He knew his granddaughter always looked forward to their drives and would be very disappointed. His wife came to the rescue and said that she would take their granddaughter for her weekly drive.
When they returned, the little girl anxiously ran upstairs to see her grandfather who was still in bed. “Well, did you enjoy your ride with grandma?” he asked.
“Not really, PaPa, it was boring. We didn’t see a single asshole, queer, piece of shit, horse’s ass, socialist left wing Obama lover, blind bastard, dip shit, Muslim camel humper, peckerhead or son of a bitch anywhere we went. We just drove around and Grandma smiled at everyone she saw.
I really didn’t have any fun.”
Brings a tear to your eye, doesn’t it?