Blog #142

I was driving down the street this morning, noticing that the multi-colored magnificence of early Fall foliage had disappeared, replaced now by the withering drabness and decaying litter of approaching Winter.  I felt low.  Then I remembered a quote from an author named Anthony D’Angelo – Wherever you go, no matter what the weather, always bring your own sunshine.  And I can think of no better way of bringing sunshine than to wish all my friends and loyal readers a wonderful, happy and delicious Thanksgiving.  Turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes and brown gravy, apple pie.  It’s my favorite meal and my favorite day.

I had a delicious Thanksgiving meal, with all the above goodies, last Thursday.  My English class and the volunteer tutors (that’s me) were invited to a Thanksgiving lunch sponsored by the Adult Education program.  The food was terrific, and I got to eat with two beautiful young ladies from Taiwan and talk about Asian politics.  Yes, Thanksgiving is my favorite day.

Of course, my least favorite day is any day when I have to speak with my cable company or my telephone company.  These are monstrously big corporations with tens of millions of customers, all of whom are treated like worthless cattle.  Car salesmen are saints compared to cable company employees.  Our new cable and internet bill is $150.  It includes the ACC Network.  I signed up for that and got the receipt.  When I got home, I tried the ACC Network.  Not there.   I got on the phone.  The first five people I talked to agreed that I was supposed to get the ACC Network, but they couldn’t make it work.  The sixth one said, “I can make it work and your bill will be $160.”  I went nuclear.  My heart was running faster than Usain Bolt.  My Pacemaker was hotter than wherever Jeffrey Epstein is.  I asked the young woman to tell me whether the first five people I had talked to were lying to me or just ignorant.  She said she’d get back to me.  I held.  When she got back to me, she said I can give it to you and your bill will be $140.  If I ran a hotdog stand that way, I’d be out of business by the second day.

Would you like mustard, Sir, with your All-Beef Weiner?  Yes?  Well, here’s the hotdog and the bun.  The guy with the mustard will be here between 1:00 and 3:00.  And the mustard will be another $1.50, unless you want Grey Poupon which we can deliver tomorrow morning at an extra cost.  How much?  I’m not sure, it depends on the taxes.  I could include a pickle with that, but only if you’re a new customer.  And the All-Beef Weiner is actually pork.

I asked every single cable employee whether they used their own company.  Not one of them said yes.

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you are feeling great and your stomach is prepared for some delicious food -- and for Black Friday?  That’s the day we concentrate on shopping and forget about cable companies and how many Ukrainians it takes to screw in a light bulb.  Carol, like most women, loves to go shopping on Black Friday.  I would rather have my fingernails pulled out by Rudy Giuliani.  The only thing I hate worse than Black Friday is Cyber Monday.  Keep the extra $200 I would save by fighting the Friday crowds or suffering the slings and arrows of an outrageous Internet.  I’ll be happy to pay a little more in exchange for some peace and personal service.  That’s just me.

So, as on every Black Friday, I will drop my favorite little shopper off at her favorite stores and patiently wait while she has her holiday mallgasm.  I usually do my waiting (with a book, of course) at a fast-food restaurant where I can get a Diet Coke.  Maybe I’ll pick up a girl, I tease.  She laughs.  Why are you laughing?  I may be old, but I’m … experienced.  Her reply is always the same:

If you want to pick up the right kind

Who’s sexy and young, you will find

That if you don’t flash

A whole lot of cash

The one you pick up will be blind.

She always knows how to brighten my day.  That’s why I call it Black Friday.  Well, at least the Democrats have taken a week off from their impeachment inquiry.  We need a break.  But they’re not forgetting it.  The Democrats even have a Thanksgiving meal planned with all the appropriate foods.  It starts with an appetizer of calamari (also known as Squid-Pro-Quo), then a Trump Roast with some Ukraine-berry Sauce.  And for dessert?  Impeach Melba.  

Has a stranger ever come up to you and said, “You’re an Oyster”?  We recently went to a fine seafood restaurant for dinner and had a lovely meal, after which I excused myself to use the restroom.  I found the quiet little hallway with the two facing doors, but they were not marked MEN and WOMEN.  Nor LADS and LASSIES.  Nor CABALLEROS and SEÑORITAS.  Nope, some clever little seafood person had decided to label them PEARLS and OYSTERS.  Ok, cute, but now what?  Pearls or oysters?  Was I missing something? I stood there feeling like Monty Hall had just found a hard-boiled egg in my shoe and was giving me the choice of Door #1 or Door #2.  I must have looked sufficiently confused, as well as desperate, because a waitress passed by, glanced at me and said (you guessed it), “You’re an Oyster”. 

Duh, I thought, knocking myself in the head, of course I’m an oyster.  I’m the Limerick Oyster.  In fact, I’m your Limerick Oyster, the aged and addlepated clown who has been sending you strange thoughts and stranger limericks for 142 weeks.  Aren’t you tired of me yet?  No?  Then I guess I’ll have to write another one next week.  Until then, stay well and count your blessings.  And if you happen to see a kindly old man sitting alone at a table with a Diet Coke and a book, c’mon over and say hi.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

Michael                                    Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com

Blog #141

What’s the biggest lie you have ever heard?

·        When the car salesman told you the original tires would last 60,000 miles?

·        When the cable company said we’ll have a guy out there today?

·        When the doctor said this won’t hurt?

·        When Bill Clinton said I did not have sexual relations with that woman?

Nope!  The biggest lie you’ve ever been told is that the colonoscopy prep doesn’t taste as bad as it used to.  And, by the way, when they put you under, why do they make you count backwards from 100?  You never get to 97, so they should just make you count backwards from 3.  And why do you have to count backwards?  Is this a test?  Sorry, if you can’t manage to count backwards, then I’m afraid we won’t be able to shove this camera up your ass.  Why do you have to count at all?  Why don’t they just tell you to say goodbye twice?

And why are all these people lying to me or trying to kill me or steal my car?  Just getting up in the morning makes me feel like a worm in a field of robins.  Do I have to spend my life watching out for these people?  Is everyone in the world bad?  Is every priest a pedophile?  Is every politician a liar?  Is every car salesman trying to cheat me?  I don’t want to go through life mistrusting everyone.  I really try to believe and to trust the people I meet.  Except the car salesmen and the politicians, of course.

At least there are some people I can trust – and that’s you, my loyal readers.  Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling spectacular, staying warm and getting ready to spend a glorious Thanksgiving with those you love.  Carol and I are flying to North Carolina to be with my oldest daughter and her family.  My daughter lives in a relatively small community and cannot find the Everything Bagels she loves.  The last time we flew up for Thanksgiving, I brought her a dozen of the smelly little things.  I packed them in my carry-on, and as it was moving down the conveyor toward the x-ray, the TSA agent sniffed, looked up at me and said, “Ah, everything bagels!”  True!

You can’t carry on, Mr. Fox

Whatever you have in that box

The smell is so vile it

May knock out the pilot

Or make him turn back for some lox.

Today I went to my cable company and negotiated a new deal.  I was satisfied with the deal until they handed me a new modem and said I had to replace the old one.  It’s easy, they said.  Here are the instructions.  My mind immediately filled with disaster movies – War of the Worlds, Independence Day, Titanic, Honey I Shrunk the Kids.  Nothing good was ever going to come of putting a piece of electronic equipment in my hands.  It’s easy.  Just unplug the old one and plug this one in.  Then call this number to activate.  Instead, I called the Fire Department, the Navy Seals and Ghostbusters!  I was never going to be able to do this.  I have no level of expertise, so everything is beyond it.  I have no pay grade, so everything is above it.  I have no league, so everything is out of it.  I was, therefore, not terribly surprised when it didn’t work.  They sent a repairman.  I felt better.

Almost every year, I go to see an opera with a friend.  I hate the opera, but I like the friend.  Last night was my sixth, Madame Butterfly.  Madame Butterfly is about a Japanese (played by a Chinese) and an American (played by a Brazilian) singing in Italian with English subtitles, so it’s confusing before it even gets started. The beautiful 15-year-old Japanese girl (Cio-Cio-San) was played by a fat, 40-ish Chinese woman with a huge pimple on her chin.  And the American sailor (Pinkerton) was played by a man who looked like he had swallowed two beachballs.  It’s a good thing the opera had two intermissions, because these people obviously require a meal every 45 minutes.  

God, in His, Her or Its wisdom, did not endow me with the capacity for loving opera.  At least I’m willing to try, but after six attempts, I have still not encountered one I would be willing to see a second time.  There are some “modern” operas that I like.  I love Porgy and Bess and Sweeney Todd and Phantom, but not Evita.  There’s nobody to like in Evita.  Juan Peron was a murdering Fascist pedophile.  Eva was a lying power-hungry whore.  Che was a brutal and dirty Communist.  Not exactly Huey, Dewey and Louie.  I bet they’d fit in perfectly with the people running for President.

MOVIE REVIEW:  Matt Damon and Christian Bale are wonderful in Ford v Ferrari.  I liked it a lot.  Maybe a little too much time in the racecars, but the story and the acting are well worth it.

I do not eat breakfast.  Stop, don’t tell me that breakfast is the most important meal of the day.  I just heard Dr. Oz say that was a lie your mother told when you were growing up.  So those few extra pounds you can’t seem to get rid of?  It’s your Mother’s fault.  Now, everybody’s into the Intermittent Fasting thing, and complaining what a sacrifice it is not eating for 14 straight hours.  I don’t get it.  I’m finished eating dinner at 7:00 and I don’t eat until lunch at 11:30. That’s 15½ hours, for those of you who flunked 4^th Grade Math.  Actually, it’s 16½.  For lunch I often make PB&J on Ritz crackers.  Now that’s delicious!  I’m assuming you all know that PB&J means Peanut Butter and Jelly, although I suppose it could mean Pork Bellies and Jerky or Pickled Beets and Jell-O or Pinto Beans and Jambalaya or Pistachio Ben & Jerry’s.  I have way too much time.

But you don’t, so I’ll let you get back to whatever it is you do when you’re not reading Limerick Oyster.  Stay well, count your blessings and have a lovely Thanksgiving.  I’ll talk to you next week.  Be there.

Michael                                    Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com

Blog #140

It’s time to stop all this political folderol.  We all know who we want for President.  It’s not Trump or Warren or Uncle Joe.  We all know the candidate that would get 90% of the vote from both Republicans and Democrats.  So why waste our time and energy on this craziness?  Let’s just do it!  Prince Harry for President.  We love the British Royals.  We fawn and gush over every royal wedding and royal baby, and every time we check out at the grocery, we pick up the magazines with Meghan’s picture on the cover.  Wouldn’t we just plotz over Meghan as First Lady?  Or would that be First Duchess?  Besides, Harry’s never going to be King, so he’s available.

And speaking of checking out at the grocery store, we were doing that -- well, I was doing that while Carol was reading the magazines with Meghan's picture on the cover -- when she told me we could get our groceries delivered.  Why would I have my groceries delivered?  Have I lost my ability to drive?  Have I turned blind?  “Well,” she said, “it could be raining.”  My little princess does not do rain.  Now Meghan, besides being our next First Lady, is a Princess, a Royal Highness, a Duchess and a Baroness.  But that doesn’t mean she outranks my Princess.  Are you reading this, Honey?  Phew!  Anyway, I responded that there is no weather event that could keep me from going to the grocery store, and that if I ever get my groceries delivered, make sure they include a bottle of arsenic.

I’m looking for a better deal on my cable and internet provider.  Aren’t we all?  Cable companies are the snake-oil salesmen of the present.  They lie to you about the cost, the service, the terms.  They raise your price every chance they get and give better prices to new customers than to loyal and steady customers.  I know you recognize your cable company in there somewhere.  So I just got a quote from AT&T to compare with my current bill from Spectrum.  I would try Sprint, but a few years ago, Sprint actually began dropping customers who called customer service too frequently.  I do not lie.  They sent letters to those pesky pains in the tush, informing them they were no longer welcome at Sprint.  Here’s what those letters looked like:

About your renewal?  We pass.

We have to release you, alas

So please let us be

Call AT&T

Because you’re a pain in the ass.

  

Granddaughter Zoey (16) got me to download Spotify so I could listen to a podcast she liked.  Then I realized it was for music too.  I am so clueless about these things.  I know as much about the iPhone as Stevie Wonder knows about Air-Traffic Control.  I probably know how to do less than 2% of what a smartphone can do.  But could I live without my phone?  No!  How else would I be able to bore my friends with pictures of my grandchildren?  Anyway, I got Granddaughter Charley (11) to teach me how to get songs and make a playlist.  I’m in Heaven!  Rock ‘n Roll! 

One of the first songs I added was Alice’s Restaurant, a 22½ minute rambling story by Arlo Guthrie accompanied by his guitar.  In 2007, I was visiting a shrink twice a week for depression.  I was also listening to Alice’s Restaurant, all 22½ minutes of it, every night.  Every single night for an entire year.  Of course, over the weeks, the shrink learned everything there was to know about me.  We talked about depression and we talked about my drinking.  He’s the one who stopped me from drinking by telling me if I didn’t stop, I would lose my wife.  I never had a drop after that.  Not one.  One time he said I was obsessive-compulsive.  I told him I didn’t think I was.  He replied, “Are you kidding?  You listen to Alice’s Restaurant every single night!”.  I guess he was right. 

Anyway, I don’t drink any more and I don’t listen to Alice’s Restaurant any more, but when I listened to it on Spotify just now, I got a big smile.  Plus, I picked up some new songs from some of the really old artists.  Paul McCartney recorded a song after his doctor measured his height and told him he had shrunk another inch:

          Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I’m two-foot-four?

Here are some more Newies by the Oldies:

·        The Stones – Goodbye Senior Tuesday

·        Elton John – Bennie and the Stents

·        Paul Simon – 50 Ways to Lose Your Liver

If you’re not the lead dog, the view never changes.  That’s a phrase which, in its various forms, means the leader has a clear view and the followers can’t see anything except some other dog’s butt.  Being a follower sucks.  Actually, I don’t think the lead dog is so terrific.  It’s the lead dog’s wife that runs the show: 

Listen, Nanook, you’re going the wrong way.  You couldn’t find your way out of a McDonald’s bag if they left you a trail of French fries.  If they dropped you in the middle of Seattle, you couldn’t find a Starbucks.  So forget this call of the wild crap; you’re going where I tell you.  And when we get there, don’t forget I’m not eating that dried caribou slop you and your pack of losers eat.  Get me a Caesar salad with the dressing on the side.  And pine nuts.  Speed up, and stay clear of those clouds over there.  I do not do rain.

Speaking of dogsleds and bad weather, it’s cold out there.  It’s colder than a stethoscope!  It’s so cold I saw Lindsey Graham and Nancy Pelosi hugging!  It’s so cold I saw Elizabeth Warren go inside a tent to keep her Wig-Wam!  It’s so cold I saw Joy Behar snuggling up to Donald Trump because he’s so full of hot air!  Ok, that’s enough.  You can go now.  But be back next week.  I might even say something funny for a change and you wouldn’t want to miss it.  Stay warm, stay well and count your blessings.

Michael                                    Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com

Blog #139

I think we need to change the world.  Men seem to be useless.  We can’t dress.  We’re always lost.  Every decision we make is wrong (at least that’s what Carol tells me).  Let’s turn the World over to women.  If we do, we won’t need the UN or NATO any more, just the A Group and the B Group.  And there wouldn’t be any more wars.  Women don’t make war.  It would just be: “I’m not calling France.  I called last time and she didn’t call back.  It’s her turn to call.  Oh, and there was a tsunami in Sri Lanka?  Send a tray.”

Those men never know what they’re do-N

They totally messed up the U-N

To deal with Iran

We don’t need a man

They’re not good for much except screw-N.

IN THE NEWS:

Congratulations to Conan, the Belgian Malinois military working dog that aided in the recent US operation that killed Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, the head of ISIS.  Conan is going to be a guest at the White House.  But wait, Nancy Pe-Lassie has accused the doggie hero of Collie-usion with a Russian Wolfhound and is asking for an Im-pooch-ment inquiry.  What a crazy world we live in!

IN THE NEWS:

“Actress and political activist Jane Fonda said on Friday that she’s not purchasing any more clothes as a way to fight climate change.”  Yup, that was in the news this week.  There was a time when I would have been excited to hear Jane didn’t have any clothes.  Not so much anymore.  But I kind of like the thought process.  No more new clothes.  And let’s stop using cars and airplanes.  Oh, and turn your electricity off and your cellphones.  And building houses wastes wood and that kills trees and trees clean the air and yadda, yadda.  We should all just move into caves and live in the dark and smoke pot.  And then we can call that progress!  Thanks, Jane. 

Jane, whose real name is Lady Jayne Seymore Fonda, is worth $200 million.  So yes, Jane, you can skip buying another Armani blouse and call that political activism.  Or, maybe, you could sell all your stuff and give $200 each to a million homeless people so they could buy a coat for the winter.  Then you can move into your cave with no electricity and be happy.

Do you know what the word gobbledygook means?  It’s the language spoken by employees of your cable company.  I don’t have to describe my experience – you’ve all had the same thing happen to you.  I’ll give you some highlights:

·        I wanted to get rid of my land line.  You can’t because you’re on a plan.

·        Then I want a new plan.  You’re plan expires November 19^th.  Call back then.

·        Can I call on the 18^th?  No, because you’ll still be on the plan and we can’t offer you a new plan if you’re still on an old one.

·        Can I call on the 20^th?  No, because on the 20^th you will automatically be charged for another month.

It’s like being pecked to death by a duck!  No Ottoman pasha could devise a system so sinister and convoluted. 

Hi there and welcome to November.  I hope you are warm and healthy and not hungry.  If you are, you won’t be after you listen to this.  Have you heard of Feet Loaf?  It was a popular main dish at Halloween parties this year and consisted of cooked meatloaf molded into the shape and size of a human foot, complete with sliced onions or radishes for toenails.  I would not make this up.  Google it, if you dare.  It’s revolting!  Is that what we have come to?  Dinner made to look like human body parts?  I mean, what are they going to do with Rump Roast?  I can see a whole meal composed of Toe-mato soup, macaro-knee and cheese, with chocolate-hip cookies for dessert.  We could serve it all with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.

Two of my students belong to a local mosque that had an open house this week.  I went.  They had exhibits of Moslem dress and Moslem food from various countries.  I tried an egg souffle from Yemen, tea from Morocco and a cupcake from Walmart.  And I listened to a half-hour explanation of what Islam is all about.  Winston Churchill said, “Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak; courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen.”  So I took off my shoes, sat down and listened.  Couldn’t hurt.

This morning I went to my storage closet that holds the few remaining books that I own, and I picked up a book I had read before, in 1986.  I still consider it the scariest book I have ever read.  By the time I got to page 8, I felt perfectly at home in the warm, capable, familiar and frightening clutches of Stephen King.  The book is It, and I swear to you, constant readers, that for the next 1,138 pages, I will leave the lights on.

Constant reader is what Stephen King calls us, his loyal fans, in his introductions.

Well I have my own readers and they often send me comments.  I got one this morning from one of my lady readers, who was describing something she did.  She ended with the question, “Does that make me your craziest groupie?”  Groupie?  I have groupies?  That could be the most exciting thing I’ve ever heard in my life – next to Carol saying I do and the doctor saying It’s a girl, It’s a girl and It’s a girl.  Suddenly I feel like a rock star.  Later today, I ran into a friend who looked glum.  What’s the matter, I asked?  I have shingles, he said.  Really, I said, that’s too bad.  I have groupies.

Well, that’s it, little Groupies (I just love that).  I’m finished, but I’ll be back next week.  You don’t have to do anything.  I’ll have my people call your people.  Unless you’ve moved into a cave with Jane.  Until then, stay well, count your blessings and don’t eat the Feet Loaf.

Michael                                    Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com