Category Archives: Humor

My New Friend

 

scam

As I got older, my eyes began playing tricks on me. I believe I mentioned a long time ago that I looked at a sign in front of a motel and read, “Congratulations to our ghost of the week.” It actually said “guest,” of course. My eyes’ version is definitely funnier.

Like everyone else, I get an inordinate number of robocalls, and on my cell phone the screen displays, “Scam Likely.” I decided to blame my eyes and tell whoever it interrupted that the call is from my new friend “Stan Liekly.”

The scam-likely warning is better than nothing, but you would think that a nation in which every person under the age of thirty had a cellphone before they were potty trained could figure out how to stop these callers. Unfortunately, not.

I admit, knowing how many billions of dollars these con artists make, I’ve tried to figure out how I’d milk this cash cow. I could robocall millions of people and tell them that I’m an IRS agent holding a Nigerian Prince, and his bag full of money, hostage. Then I’d demand $10,000 in bit coin or I’ll force the Nigerian Prince to infect their computer and erase all their files.

On the other hand, it’s easier and more profitable just to work a legitimate job.

Beer?

fall-beer-stein

I’ve never been much of a beer drinker; the only time beer tastes good to me is after I’ve gotten grossly dehydrated. While the trend today is toward craft beers and microbreweries, for years, there were multiple big named breweries, each of which touted its brand name and slogan.

I grew up in Ohio and the local beer was Buckeye–“It’s on everybody’s lips!” because, we used to joke, it was impossible to swallow. Buckeye is long gone, but what about the big names?

Schlitz–“The beer that made Milwaukee famous” was purchased by Pabst brewing.

Stroh’s lacked a notable slogan, once owned Schlitz, but ended up as part of Pabst brewing.

Coors was so sought after in the east that if you tried to take some back home by air it would never make it past Chicago. Coors merged with Miller.

Olympia originally used artesian wells, so their motto was “It’s the water.” (Firesign Theatre did  a great parody.)  Olympia was the second most prized beer in the east. It is currently brewed by MillerCoors.

Pabst Blue Ribbon is known for it’s perceptive marketing. The story is that the advertising company sent people around to different bars. When they realized that the greeting from the bartender was not, “Hello,” but “What’ll you have?” that became their motto. Pabst is currently brewed by MillerCoors.

Budweiser, “The King of Beers” eventually became part of the Anheiser-Busch INBEV. (Click to see their family tree). Which did, will, might, own everybody. Or, maybe that’s MillerCoors. I can’t keep track.

I probably have missed a few of the mergers, megamergers, divestitures, etc., but you get the idea.

I have this perception, that choosing a big name beer is like the high tech soda machines at fast food restaurants. You can get almost any drink or any combination from one tap just by pressing the right buttons.

Exit Stage Left

The old saying—and the old tee-shirt—that advises that, “He who dies with the most toys wins” is totally wrong.

At some point in the not-too-distant future, my youngest will be off to college, I will retire, and my wife and I plan on moving to a smaller house. So now, I’ve got to figure out what to do with my eclectic, but vast, collection of treasures–before it’s time to move.

A few things have sold on eBay, but eBay has apparently lost its magic. Things either don’t sell, or sell at an embarrassingly low price (i.e., not worth the trouble to list it, pack it up, and ship it). Therefore, Goodwill thinks we’re their very best friends based on the number of donations.

I’m asking the kids what they want (If they don’t want it when you’re alive, why think they’ll want it once you’re dead—or moved?). The rest, that won’t fit into a smaller house, is too good to throw away or donate, but I have absolutely no idea what to do with it.

I’ve contemplated getting a Recreational Vehicle and spending my retirement years driving around the country and having a tag sale at each place where we stop. Another option would be to have an estate sale “due to a death in the family.” While it might seem slightly disingenuous, if I have the dog “play dead” I might be able to claim that it fits through a loophole. He’s family—more or less.

I could get three of those portable storage pods. That would take care of moving into the smaller house. When I actually die, (Heh, heh, heh!) I’d have one delivered to each of my kids’ homes so they would have to figure out what to do with the stuff all the treasures.

If you had ever seen their rooms when they were teenagers, you’d understand the subtle message and irony.

Scandal!

zebra

Although we’re jaded by laundered money, gangland murders, fake news, and politicians, some things just go beyond the pale. A zoo in Cairo is suspected of painting a mule and passing it off as a zebra. What the . .  .?

Where is PETA when you need them?

It was only a matter of time.

I knew that body painting people wasn’t as innocent as we were supposed to believe. The “skinny jeans” that were painted on never fooled anyone–the number of nearby males copiously drooling immediately gave it away.

jeans

Artificial zebras–what’s next? Adding artificial necks to mules and passing them off as giraffes? Stapling horns on horses to sell as unicorns? A Monty Python world in which dead parrots are nailed to the perch in their cage to pass them off as Norwegian Blues? (Although Norwegian Blues do have lovely plumage.)

Next we’ll be making people believe that dinosaurs can be retrieved from their DNA. And as long as we’re doing dinosaurs, why not clone Fred and Wilma Flintstone?

It’s a sad state of affairs.

PLEASE! If you are thinking of buying a zebra, run it through the local car wash several times, just to be sure. The mule (or zebra, if it is authentic) won’t like it, but you must protect your investments. Otherwise Caveat Emptor!

You’ve been warned!

An Appeal for Donations

 

Photo of a Collection Plate

CNN reports, “Jesse Duplantis, leader of Jesse Duplantis Ministries and the owner of three other private jets, is asking his followers to chip in so his ministry can purchase a brand new Dassault Falcon 7X, which runs about $54 million.”

I thought that televangelists were on the television, which would seem to mean that their physical location was immaterial, so long as a television studio was available. I believe that, in a pinch, this would include the camera and microphone built into most computers.

But then what do I know?

As the only world’s only Philosopher-without-Portfolio–to the best of my knowledge–I believe I am just as entitled to a personal aircraft as anyone else. However, my needs are far less prestigious. I’d be more than happy with a used Cessna 182, which is available for less than $500,000.

I expect everybody to give this their best effort.

However, if that proves to be too difficult for you, a boat–say a 30 foot cabin cruiser, might be more achievable. Again, used is fine. I can engage in philosophical thoughts in a used airplane or on a used boat without any difficulty.

There is one problem.

Jesse said that God wants him to have the new jet.

I asked God if He wanted me to have people collect money to provide me with a plane or a boat. He didn’t exactly say, “Yes,” but He apparently enjoyed a good laugh.

From Rocks to Fails

In the absence of honest journalism, the media (plural for medium, as “in the middle” such having a C average in school) have resorted to various gimmicks to attract readers–especially if someone is paying for clicks on the web page. Among the traditional gimicks is the unfinished headline, where they try to make it look like they ran out of space:

Political analysts caught by surprise when president signs bill making 

Then there’s the shock/tease headline:

If you thought this starlet was cute in the 1960’s, you’ll be shocked at how she look today!

Gradually we ended up on the rocks:

Fifty year old movie star rocks bikini!

Of course, ending up on the rocks, is another term for failure, so now the media is into fails:

Biggest fails at the gala awards program!

Actually, they might do better if they just made up words:

You’ll absolutely snarzl when you see this!

Thought for Today

At times I think I would prefer to be a gentleman, in the old English sense, born into wealth and privilege with lands and a stately old home with gardeners taking care of the outside and an entire staff keeping the inside neat and tidy (including my teenagers’ bedrooms and bathroom).

estate 1

Maybe a little over the top, but you know what I mean.

I’d have to juggle my tennis match with other elites and various social engagements in order to make time to sign important papers to increase my wealth or to meet with important peers awaiting my sage advise.

No such luck. That is not how my day will unfold.

However, today I will not hide behind a spoofed telephone number on your caller ID to try to sell you a time-share condominium. I will not go around my store and relabel all the appliances, automobiles, or canned goods with a higher “Regular Price” so the same old “Sale Price” looks like a better deal. Nor will I be sending you an email to steal your money, your password, or your identity. I won’t pretend I’m a Nigerian Prince who needs your help to rescue my fortune or try to convince you that, based on a single poorly performed experiment, I can cure you of your chronic ills.

I’ll just go to work, then come home to my family.

Not to bad, really.

 

Louie vs Politicians

SONY DSC

 

I try to stay out of political discussions for a variety of reasons; my blood pressure, the effect of stress on other medical problems with my (rapidly) aging body, and the fact that most political stories–once the hyperbole is removed–are not interesting, and definitely not uplifting.

We adopted our dog Louie from the animal shelter about six years ago. We’ve been told that Louie is a “Walker Treeing Coon Hound,” whatever that means. To me it means that he has that distinctive combination of bark and howl that says, “Hound,” and he’s not afraid to use it.

He barks at squirrels, the garbage truck, the UPS truck, everyone walking down the street, and various imaginary threats. The doorbell immediately puts him into DEFCON ONE. He runs to the door, complete with cartoon-like running feet unaccompanied by forward motion.

He spends a lot of time in bed. In fact he has one on the back porch and one in the house just so it’s convenient for him.

He loves to eat, especially “forbidden fruit,” which has resulted in several (expensive) emergency surgeries to remove.

Nirvana, to him, is an open gate or door through which he launches like a rocket. Of course, he expects us to grab the car keys, follow him, and open the car door so that he also gets to go for a ride in the car.

In summary:

  • Louie makes a lot of noise for no good reason.
  • When he does move, most of it is for show, not action.
  • He spends a lot of time doing nothing.
  • He partakes of things that he should not.
  • He likes to travel without any particular reason.
  • He believes that we should clean up after all his mistakes.
  • When caught doing something he shouldn’t, he displays an amazing picture of innocence.

Why would I need to follow politics when I’ve got Louie?

Don’t be fooled by the innocent expression.

Teenagers Are Cheap?

As a newly acclaimed Philosopher-without-portfolio, I have taken my responsibilities seriously, to think about whatever needs to be thought about–without restrictions. I recently completed and submitted my income taxes. Naturally, that involves a great deal of thought, usually such things as, “I need something for my headache,” or “I don’t usually drink hard liquor, but it’s beginning to sound better and better.”

I use TurboTax, which is causes mixed feelings. Yes, it is helpful and yes, it’s about 1/10 the cost of having someone prepare it for me; however, it’s parent company, and all the companies that have anything to do with tax preparation, were the ones who lobbied (a polite term for hiring and unleashing high paid but unscrupulous experts) to prevent the simplification of the tax code. After all, if taxes were simple enough to submit on a post card, these people might have to get honest jobs.

But I digress (it’s a philosophical thing).

One of the many oddities in the tax code is the child tax credit. This is means you can reduce your federal tax by up to $1000 per child. The criteria include that the child lived with you, is your dependent, you paid for their support (food, clothing, etc.). It also requires that the child be younger than seventeen.

Now, I’ll reserve my opinion about politicians, the Internal Revenue Service, lobbyists, etc., but do they have any idea as to how costs change as a child gets older. I could clothe both my kids for a year for the same amount of money as I now spend on their shoes. Once they hit that magic age to get a driver’s license, auto insurance increases.

With two teenagers with drivers licenses I spend as much on car insurance in two years as what my first house cost. One of them is away at college, can’t have his car on campus, but since it’s less than 100 miles, the price stays the same. Add in the class photos, yearbooks, formal dances, etc., and those incidentals for college, like books, tuition, room and board, and you get the picture.

But someone has decided that kids must be cheaper after they turn 17 and included it in the tax code. They must be in one of those states where recreational marijuana is not only legal, but can be written off as a business expense.

New Title

I have a day job, I write this blog, I do some community service, I have children, I write various other works, so in many ways, I’m a jack-of-all-trades, but a master of none. The last part is okay, because no person ever really masters anything.

All the things I do require a lot of thought. Many–but not all–include writing, but all are more mental than physical. I have decided, therefore, to acknowledge that with an appropriate title. George Carlin listed his occupation as “Foole,” so it’s not an original concept.

Therefore, I do now declare myself as a Philosopher, without Portfolio. In a nutshell, that means that it is my job to think, but I am not assigned any particular area of responsibility, so I can think of whatever I desire.

 

The CES and Other Illusions

Every year I read about the great new products at the Consume Electronic Show, this year held 8 – 12 January in Las Vegas. The products are marvelous. They’re amazing. They’re introduced amid a glamor of models, cosplayers, and celebrities. They represent the cutting edge of technology.

Unfortunately, most of us will see, much less be able to use most of them. Like, where are the flying cars?

Driverless cars, domestic robots, virtual 3-D that’s adult—NOT porn (I’m not kidding, that’s what they say), and (wait for it) the ability to see INSIDE YOUR HAIR! Now, given that I have much less hair than I did in my younger days, that just might be important to me. Can I stop by WalMart, BestBuy, or even Brookstone and pick one up? Not so much.

There are the latest video games (yawn)—but—wait! Here’s something special— a smart kitty litter box! Something practical—but it’s for the show, not the store.

Oh well.

I’d write more, but I need to go sweep up around the plain, old-fashioned, low-tech kitty litter box.

Blizzard!

Here in Virginia we’re under a blizzard warning!

Of course, as a major military town, many—if not most—people are not originally from around here. Many are from up north and know what a REAL blizzard is like; I grew up in Northern Ohio, so although Erie Pennsylvania and Buffalo, New York usually got more, we routinely experienced lake effect. Lake effect is when cold air from up north (the “Alberta Clipper”) flows over a large, unfrozen body of water (e.g., Lake Erie), sucks up all the moisture from the warm lake, then passes over the cold land, after which that moisture dumps on the ground as snow. Up there, blizzards mean that snowfall is measured in feet.

In Virginia, on the other hand, a few inches of snow—or even the threat of a few inches—creates havoc. Some people believe that because they have a four-wheel-drive vehicle, they can drive 60 miles per hour on the interstate. Of course, four-wheel-drive will get a car moving on a slippery surface, but does nothing to prevent those 360-degree spins on ice. Others, just forget how to drive.

So right now, we wait FOR THE BLIZZARD. I saw at least a hundred snowflakes earlier today, but so far that’s it. So we wait. All of us wait. Some of us blog while waiting, but we still wait.

Fake News!

There is no truth to the allegation that Vladimir Putin said:

In America, people take advantage of other people.                                                       In Russia, it’s the other way around.

I just don’t know how such rumors get started!

Memorandum

FROM: THE BIG BOSS

TO: Subservient Middle Managers

SUBJECT: Appropriate Attitude

It has come to my attention that some of our middle managers are not only talking with employees, but even (and I’m embarrassed to admit this) asking them for advice. This behavior must stop immediately. As the Good Book says, “Do not cast pearls before swine.”

I have had some managers insist that sudden improvements in productivity and/or quality are due to ideas from the workers who actually perform the jobs that improved. This is pure, unadulterated balderdash. No employee below the level of supervisor has the brains or ability to impact our standard operating procedures. We must continue to do things the way we always have done them. Let me be perfectly clear; the end does not justify the means. Don’t tell me that things are better because a member of the working class came up with an idea.

It has been scientifically proven that the earth is flat and only management personnel have the ability to think.

Effective immediately, do not interact with workers, do not speak with them, and unless ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY, do not acknowledge their existence. I hope I do not need to say anything further on this subject; if I find someone is so infatuated with workers, I will arrange for you to join them.

Inferior Garbage

Image result for recycle symbol

At our house, we repurpose by donating things to Goodwill or K4AMG—a charity that helps kids learn electronics. We compost. We recycle. Some places I’ve lived, we had one bin for paper, one for cans, and one for bottles. Here, we have one giant container for everything, with the sorting done elsewhere after it’s picked up. A few years ago the paper included a story that two weeks after scrap cardboard was sent to China, it was headed back as packaging for new merchandise.

But wait.

The Chinese are complaining that there are too many imperfections in the material we recycle. (Please note that “we” refers to more than just my family).

The approved recyclables include bottles, cans and cardboard, BUT NEVER, EVER INCLUDE A PIZZA BOX BECAUSE THE GREASE FROM THE PIZZA RUINS EVERYTHING! However, some people have included more than what is on the list—bowling balls, deer heads, and——-you really don’t want to know.

Once American products set the standard for the world, but no more. Now we’re known for inferior recyclables.

So, how do we improve the quality of our recyclable garbage? Maybe the White House should appoint a recyclable garbage Tsar, but that would mean bigger, more complicated government.

On the other hand, there’s one group that knows garbage better than anyone—politicians. So, let’s make it one of the duties for any politically elected or appointed position to spend a couple of hours a week down at the recycling center separating the good recyclables from the bad recyclables. While they’re down there, sooner or later they’ll start talking among themselves, which would be a marvelous improvement.

The Studio Boss’s Advice

“Thank you all for coming to this important meeting on such short notice, but this is extremely important after all the allegations of sexual misconduct. I’d like to correct it, but since this is Hollywood, we’re going to make people feel—almost believe—we corrected it. Hey, perception is reality, we’re going to give people the perception that we’ve corrected it.

“How? First, we all know that there are only a handful of plots that we keep recycling. A few of them are going to have to be put into suspended animation, at least for a while. ‘Boy meets girl’—forget it. It’s poison and no venture capitalist would touch it with a ten-foot pole. I spoke with Art Stanslawski—the former basketball legend—well, he’s a 7 foot 1 ½ inch Pole, and he said he wouldn’t touch it either. It’s going to be a hell of a long time before Harry meets Sally again.

“Next standard plot, at least for the 21st century, ‘Boy meets boy?’ Trust me, it’s just as dead after some of the big name actors who say they were molested.

“Boy doesn’t meet girl?” There might be a few possibilities, but the planned sequel to Sleepless in Seattle with a female playing the Tom Hanks’s role and a male playing Meg Ryan’s? That’s deader than another remake of Baywatch or The Dukes of Hazzard.

“And as far as I’m concerned, if you want to do ‘reality TV,’ more power to you. Me? I’m going to wait and do real reality TV It will feature the exposes about the shenanigans that went on behind the scenes on reality TV. I can cover the allegations, arbitrations, trials, and appeals. I’ll make a ton of money from the shows AND even more from the lawsuits.

“So, where does that leave us? Anything with lots of explosions, computer-generated effects, car chases, and spaceships. We might want to bring back Westerns.

“If we can’t computer generate actors who aren’t real people, we can always use puppets or maybe we can hire some Jesuits. Can Jesuits join the Screen Actors Guild? Maybe not a good idea because of some of he Church scandals. Scratch that.

“Anyone with a better idea, let me know. Don’t come to my office—we’ll meet in some heavily trafficked public place that’s loaded with security cameras. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but one can’t be too safe, you know.”

Good Old Virginia Politics

Greetings from post-election Virginia, the state commonwealth where gerrymandering isn’t merely a despicable political ploy, but a lifestyle. But then, when you’re home to the longest continuously running political fiasco legislative body, what do you expect?

Some of us wonder if the English who disappeared from the lost colony of Roanoke did so on purpose. They likely moved in with the Croatoan nation when they found out that these Native Americans did not engage in political campaigns. It can’t be proven, but no one has ever seen a Croatoan political poster, billboard, or campaign button.

I’ve enjoyed several days of not having to listen to negative campaign ads–Alleluia! The weird part is that all of these ads seem to be recorded using the same female announcer. Is she just so angry at the world that her voice is perfect for negative ads? Maybe she’s pissed off because negative political ads are the only type of gigs her agent can get for her? Maybe she’s angry at the world because she wanted to be an actress, but instead, the best she can do is to record negative campaign ads.

I think her friends ought to take her out for a few drinks and help her sort through her feelings; of course, that presumes she has friends, which, given her demeanor, may not be true. Now that I think of it, it may not be a good idea to take her drinking, anyway. She might be even more obnoxious after a couple of skinny margaritas.

In any case, the negative ads are over until the campaigns for the 2018 elections start cranking up.

In a week or two.

In the meantime, the worst I’ll have to listen to are those ads that run every three minutes for the personal injury lawyers as they promise to get the victim every dollar possible from the insurance companies. Less their cut, of course, and after tax, title, fees, and the dealer preparation charge.

Maybe that’s why I listen to so little radio and watch even less television. Give me a book; if I don’t like it, I can take it right back to the library—neither the book nor I any the worse for wear.

(Yes, I know the picture is of Huey Long from Louisiana–but he just so perfectly embodies the spirit of politics, yesterday and today.)

Going to Hell in a Handbasket

This expression has always puzzled me.

If one were headed to eternal damnation, why would the mode of transportation matter?

You’d expect people to sell their souls for a Lamborghini, at the very least.

 

Football In the Future

Football Hall of Fame Re-opens

Newly remodeled Football Hall of Remembrance opens to celebrate Traumatic Brain Injury.

SATIRE AFFILIATED PRESS
CANTON, OHIO 11 September 2035

Although American style football has been banned, the Football Hall of Remembrance—formerly the Football Hall of Fame—is still a popular tourist attraction. It’s remodeling was recently completed and the familiar football roof is now surmounted by an artist’s conception of traumatic brain injury. Over the front door, the entryway features a bronze relief of a player being carted off the field after, as they used to say, “Having his bell rung.”

While the exhibits still include trophies, helmets, jerseys, and other game paraphernalia, it’s the preserved brain tissue and MRI scans that are today’s favorite. Visitors can view the pathology, then try to guess to which famous player the brain once belonged. Pressing a touch screen, the player’s name, teams, scores, and number of concussions is displayed. Original plans included videos of interviews with former players, but many could no longer communicate, being content to babble incoherently, or stop mid-sentence with, “What did you just ask me?”

Taking a page from big tobacco’s playbook, the industry insisted for years that football was not dangerous; eventually there were too many injuries at the high school, university, and professional levels to ignore. Professional teams found that medical insurance costs exceeded revenues—even if the revenue from sale of team products like hats and jerseys are included. With the profits gone, most owners took their investments elsewhere. Unfortunately, this left many cities with substantial debt for stadiums they built. Many are crumbling and have been condemned because of the degree of deterioration; there’s reason to repair them and no money to tear them down. Universities initially expected a huge financial crisis, but found that the sport had actually not been a money maker, in terms of real cash, but a huge annual loss. Without football many universities were able to improve facilities and pay teachers better.

Football, is gone, but not forgotten—except by those who played the game and had their bells rung too many times.

Oyay! Oyay, ye Rolling Stones!

Who would have guessed that in 1965, the most accurate prognosticators of the twenty-first century would have been the Rolling Stones?

I mean, give me a break!

“Hey, you get off of my cloud!”

Computer technology—which was quite limited in 1965—has today become so cloud dependent—forty-plus years after their warning.

More importantly, today there are hackers at every turn . . . . It’s almost eerie. How did Keith Richards and Mick Jagger know what was coming? They are the two most unlikely people . . .

Unless you’re a fan of Men in Black, in which case, that explains a lot.

On the other hand, Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones–as much as I love their acting–have always struck me as just a bit different.

Do you know what I mean?