Blog #242                                         October 28, 2028

 

People send me all kinds of stuff, trying to help me with the blog.  I ignore most of it, but here’s a good one:  The federal government, which has a Tomahawk Missile and Apache, Blackhawk and Kiowa helicopters, officially objects to the name Washington Redskins.

 

In other compelling news, The St. Louis Cardinals are going to pay a pitcher $17.5 million for one year.  The average salary for a police officer in St. Louis is about $50,000.  We can either have one pitcher or 350 police officers.  What is wrong with us?  Where have we lost our way?  Sure, the Cardinals bring in lots of tourists who spend money at hotels and restaurants.  And who protects these tourists from being shot, robbed, raped or car-jacked in the parking lot?  Police officers!  And why are all the police officers outside protecting us?  Because they can’t afford to be inside where it costs $200 for the officer, spouse and two kids to go to the game.  But look at all the tax dollars that these tourists bring in.  Great, and what does the city do with all the tax dollars?  They sure don’t pay their police officers.  They just investigate their police officers and reprimand their police officers and prosecute their police officers.  But we have a pitcher. 

 

We have become a society where singers, actors and athletes make exorbitant millions, but where teachers, police officers and firefighters make a pitifully low wage.  We pay more to be entertained than we do to be protected or educated.  P. Diddy made $130 million last year.  I don’t even know what a P. Diddy is!  Shame

on us!

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well and staying calm.  I guess you can tell I’m a little angry this week.  Angry about how little we pay our police officers, angry about the decline of manners and culture.  Angry that Superman can no longer help us because he has nowhere to change clothes.

 

Ok, I looked up who P. Diddy is.  He’s a rapper.  You know, the guy who sings the Hip Hop, Bee Bop, Doggie Flop, Kill a Cop kind of music we all love and cherish.

 

I was at a real-estate closing some years ago where all the signatures had to be notarized.  The notary asked to see everyone’s Driver’s License, but one participant didn’t have one.  She did, however, display her Missouri Non-Driver’s License.  I had no idea you needed a license to not be something you’re not.  But the law’s the law, and I rushed over to the License Bureau and immediately applied for a Non-Barber’s License, a Non-Dentist’s License, a Non-Rapper’s License, a Non-Undertaker’s License and several dozen others. 

 

To avoid being branded a felon

I did what the law was compellin’

Now a license I’ve got

For each thing that I’m not

And my wallet’s the size of a melon.

 

My St. Louis daughter and son-in-law are off to Mexico to celebrate their 20^th Anniversary, so Carol and I have moved into their house (only four minutes from our own) to hover over and annoy the two boys, one girl, two cats and one dog.  This morning, around 7:00, the boys started munching on various things and, although I usually don’t eat breakfast, I decided a snack would be nice.  I asked Austin if there was some breakfast stuff I could heat up and he dragged a strange orange box from the freezer – Eggwich Breadless Breakfast Sandwich it said.  On this ugly, orange box was a picture of some sandwich-shaped thing that was unappetizing enough to be a hockey puck.  The picture was accompanied by this description:  Turkey sausage and American cheese nestled between 2 egg patties.  And what question immediately squirmed out of my disease-infested mind?  Who does the nestling?  Do they have a nestler?  Is there a Chief Nestler and an Apprentice Nestler?  Do I need a Non-Nestler’s License?  What is your grandson majoring in at college?  Oh, he’s majoring in Nestling.   I also wondered why they chose to say 2 egg patties instead of two egg patties.  All this intense wondering made me even hungrier, so I began 2 search the box for heating instructions.  I ignored the little sentence that read Use by the Nixon Administration, found the microwaving instructions and removed the one remaining sandwich.  The picture on the box had not come close to displaying the disgusting, decayed and grotesque countenance of the little thing, but I was invested in it already and threw it into the microwave.  One minute and 40 seconds later, I brought it out, blew on it, gingerly brought it to my mouth and cautiously took a bite.  The damn thing was delicious.

 

Sorry for being such a curmudgeon this week.  I know life sucks sometimes, but, as my father always said, “I count my blessings.  My cup runneth over.”  So let’s count our blessings and try to find a smile once in a while.  Let’s see, how can I make you smile today?

 

Do you have a Spellchecker?  Of course you do.  That’s the program that corrects the spelling and punctuation on your computer or iPhone.  I have a Spellchecker on my Microsoft Word program.  That’s the program I use to write this thing.  I call it Speedy the Spellchecker, and Speedy tries to correct all my spelling and punctuation miscues.  For instance, I just used the word runneth.  Speedy, having apparently never read the King James Bible, had a conniption and told me I couldn’t do it.  Well, Speedy, kisseth my asseth!  I’m going to use it anyway.  If Shakespeare had had a Spellchecker, he would have been forced to say Romeo, Romeo, where the hell are you?  Or, Holy crap, Brutus! 

 

There, I bet I made you smile.  The Weekly Word is curmudgeon, which means a bad-tempered or surly person.  I’ll be nicer next week and try to make you smile again, so stayeth well and cometh back.  And counteth those blessings.  Oh, and enjoy your Halloween.  You’re wearing a mask anyway; you might as well look scary.  Most people think I look scary when I take mine off.

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com

 

 

Message from Shakespeare:  I had most need of blessing (Macbeth).  Even though I’m a cat, I count my blessings too.  Let me see – Pops, Pops and Pops.  That’s three blessings right there.  Purreth.