Blog #177

Sing in me muse and through me tell the story.  Yes, another story.  You liked last week’s, so we’ll try another.  The above quote, by the way, is the opening line of The Odyssey.  Only me, right?  The fluorescent bulb in the bathroom went out.  Not a tragedy to most people, but to me it was an event that brought on more trepidation than if I had found a grizzly bear in my kitchen.  You see, I am not handy.  My cat, who is missing a leg, is handier than me.  A toothpick is too hi-tech for me.  I have, more than once, broken a light fixture while trying to install a bulb. But, in this Covid Universe, you can’t just have your son-in-law come over and do it.  So I decided to take out the old bulb, full of a pungent foreboding of disaster.  I turned it, the prongs slid out and it was free.  Ok, a good start.  Everything was going to be all right.

I took a picture of the bulb and went to Ace Hardware, purchased a replacement and went back home.  The harbinger of impending doom hovered nearby as I opened the box and slid out the new bulb.  No problem there.  I felt confident.  But then I tried to install it.  Where were the two prongs?  This bulb didn’t have any metal prongs; it had a plastic cross.  It didn’t fit.  It wouldn’t fit.  I had failed.  Carol, lending her unique form of encouragement, said, “Why didn’t you ask the guy for instructions?”  But I knew it wasn’t the fault of the helpful hardware folks at Ace.  It was my fault.  I took the old and new bulbs back to Ace.  I showed the man the old bulb with the two metal prongs and the new bulb with the plastic cross.  It doesn’t fit, I told him.  He pinched the plastic cross and pulled it off, revealing the metal prongs it had been protecting.  I felt as stupid as a skydiver who had forgotten his parachute.  I apologized for being as incompetent as Donald Trump’s humility coach and went home, where I installed the bulb with ease.  I was as happy as an ant on a Twinkie.  Do you think God had this much trouble doing the Let there be light thing?  If so, all he had to say was, Let there be Helpful Hardware Folks.

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you are feeling well and getting the respect you deserve.  I don’t get no respect.  That’s the way the late Rodney Dangerfield said it.  Did you know his real name was Jack Roy?  Well, although my grammar is certainly better, I feel just like old Rodney.  I don’t even get respect from machines.  I asked Siri the other today for the address of the nearest Dairy Queen.  She replied, I’m not telling you. Have a carrot.  When I went to bed, I told Siri to set my alarm for 7:00 am.  She said, You only have 9,612 steps. Get your lazy ass out of bed and walk to the kitchen three times.  Then today, I asked her for the phone number of Ace Hardware.  Oy, she said, did you screw up that light bulb again?  I don’t get no respect.

On a serious note, Major League Baseball (MLB) has decided to stencil Black Lives Matter (BLM) on all the pitching mounds.  I’m very disappointed.  Sports should be about the entertainment of the game.  It should not be a platform for political statements.  Have you noticed that MLB is BLM backwards?  Or maybe it’s the other way around, but then backwards is the other way around, I suppose.

I know one sign that will never be etched into the pitching mound – TAX THE RICH.  That’s because all the players are millionaires and afraid of the Progressives’ taking all their money.

Progressives just have something missin’

They talk but they never do listen

It’s really a sin

‘Cause if you vote them in

You won’t have a pot you can piss in

Centuries ago, farm people were so poor that they sold their urine to leather-makers to use for tanning.  The whole family would urinate in the pot and, at the end of the week, sell the urine.  They were called piss poor.  Even poorer were the families who could not even afford a pot.  They didn’t have a pot to piss in.  Interesting?

Every day, I exercise Shakespeare.  Here’s how that works.  We sit at one end of the hall and I roll a ping-pong ball down to the other end.  He either chases it or he doesn’t.  Either way, I have to go to the other end, pick up the ball and roll it back.  He either chases it or he doesn’t.  Sometimes he’s really into it and runs his fur off.  Other times he just sits and watches the old man going up and down the hall.

Message from Shakespeare:  I have of late--but wherefore I know not--lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercise (Hamlet).  I do love my Pops, but he is a ridiculous old fool.  I have him trained now to run up and down the hall chasing a ball.  Can you imagine?  He’s such a good boy.

A burglar entered an empty house.  As he walked in the dark, he heard a voice say, Jesus is watching you.  The burglar was freaked out and frantically shone his flashlight around the room until he found a parrot in its cage. 

          Did you say that, Parrot?

          Yup, I was just warning you that Jesus is watching you.

          What’s your name, Parrot?

          I’m Moses.

          What kind of people would name a parrot Moses?

          The same kind that would name a rottweiler Jesus.

I’ll let you go now.  I mean, there’s only so much you can take.  But first, the Weekly Word.  This week, it’s trepidation, which means fear of the future.  The only fear I have is that you won’t come back to me next week, so while I sit here worrying and quaking and biting my nails – you stay well and count those blessings one more time.

Shakespeare’s pet                              Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com