Blog #260 March 3, 2022
As you probably know by now, I have a
defibrillator-pacemaker which, in addition to dispensing an electric shock that
could fry chicken, has an internal warning signal that, if something should be
amiss with my heart, sounds like a
Nazi police siren emanating from my chest.
It is my medical opinion that a loud siren noise unexpectedly bursting
from your chest would give most people a heart attack, but what do I know? They test mine every once in a while in the
doctor’s office, and, believe me, it is very spooky to hear that Gestapo sound coming
from your own chest. I would rather have
music; even Nazi music would be better.
Oh no. I knew this was coming! Now he is going to
come up with some stupid, juvenile list of Nazi songs that he made up. It’s bad enough we have to read his dumb
limericks, now we have to suffer through this stupid thing. Exactly! Get over it.
Here they are – Nazi songs!
Well It’s Bad,
Bad Eva Braun -- We’re So Sorry, Uncle Adolph -- Hitler With Your Best Shot, and
yes, I have a favorite: Come On Baby Light My Fuhrer.
I had lunch with a friend
yesterday. Naturally I got there early
and, as I patiently sat, reading my book and sipping a glass of water, a lady
(my age I suppose) came in and sat at a nearby table. She told the waiter, “I’m waiting for one
more -- short, balding, glasses.” Is
that how we talk about our loved ones when they’re not around, with some trio
of defining characteristics? Is that how
Carol would describe me to a waiter – gray hair, carrying a book, Nazi
siren coming from his chest.
When I describe her, it’s
always in glorious and adoring superlatives – I’m waiting for a beautiful,
dark-haired woman. I would never say, “I’m
waiting for one more – small, walks fast, won’t like the table.” Anyway, when this lady’s husband came in, I
knew him immediately from his wife’s description. He was short and nondescript and lost and
generally husband-looking. I almost
waved to point him to his wife’s table.
But he found her. We always do.
Message from Shakespeare: Give them great meals of beef and iron and steel,
they will eat like wolves and fight like devils
(Henry V). I
know how Pops would describe me to a waitress: “I’m waiting for one more –
furry, three legs, purrs. And extremely
handsome.” Meow.
Hi there and welcome back. I hope you’re feeling well and staying
warm? I presume that each of you, upon
noticing that this is Blog #260, removed your slide rule and calculated that
260 = 52 x 5, concluding that this must be the Fifth Anniversary of Limerick
Oyster. Yay! Happy Anniversary! Balloons!
Little party hats! You were wrong
of course. The first issue Of Lim.
Oyster was published on March 16, 2017.
Not March 3rd. “But,”
I hear you cry, “where did those extra 13 days come from?” Well, 52 weeks is only 364 days, not
365, so there is an extra day in each of those five years plus an additional
day because 2020 was a Leap Year, which makes six days, plus an extra seven
days because Blog #2 was only one week later that #1, not two weeks. And that is why, Friends and Neighbors, everyone
hates math!
Most people who are bad at math are either divorced
and hate their X or depressed and can’t figure out Y. Just relax, take a deep breath and do your
WORDLE. Feel better now? I promise there will be no more math today. Two hundred sixty is, however, an impressive
number. Did you realize that if you
lined up all 260 limericks end to end -- you’d be bored for quite some time?
We spend a lot of time
watching the news about Ukraine. It is stunningly
depressing to think that six weeks ago, all these families we see leaving the
country were living a normal life, trying to make money, trying to be good at
what they do, planning for the future – then boom! It’s all gone. They’re refugees. No home, no money, no possessions, fleeing
the only country they’ve ever known for some strange place, any strange place
where their children don’t have to sleep in a bomb shelter. It’s horrible, and I’d
like to give you an uplifting and optimistic quote, so I found this one
attributed to Martin Luther, the 16th Century German reformist (not
Martin Luther King): “If I knew the
world were to end tomorrow, I would still plant my apple tree.” Let’s all pray for Ukraine and for peace.
While watching the news, I saw commercials for
Cosentyx, Breztri, Preservision, Cologuard, Ozempic, Prevagen and Jublia, and I
cannot decide which will come first:
Putin’s conquest of Ukraine or the drug companies having all the money
in the world. All the drug ads have
perfectly healthy people running around the park sniffing flowers and playing
with children in a perfidious attempt to distract you from hearing that the
side effects could kill a herd of elephants.
I don’t remember all kinds of drugs being advertised
when I was growing up. There was Bayer
Aspirin and Alka-Seltzer (Plop Plop Fizz Fizz) and Serutan
(Natures spelled backwards). Then, in
1998, there was Viagra, the little blue pill for old men whose
snake wasn’t working. Snake? Well, of course! Isn’t that why they call it Reptile
Dysfunction?
We start out with youthful virility
Then age comes to teach us humility
But now we can shout
Viagra’s come out
And put back the “sin” in senility.
The Weekly Word is perfidious,
which means deceitful and untrustworthy, like Vladimir Putin.
This past Tuesday was Fat Tuesday which,
when translated into French, becomes Mardi Gras. The Catholics have all these interesting
names for their days: Fat Tuesday, Ash
Wednesday, Palm Sunday, Good Friday. I think
we old people should have a Senior Weekend celebration and name each of the
days: Forgetful Friday, Slow-Driving
Saturday and Senile Sunday. I’ll be
there – if I remember. And you’d better
remember to be back here next week for more of whatever this is. Until then, stay well and count your
blessings. Then pray for Ukraine and
count your blessings again. And plant
that apple tree.
Michael Send
comments to mfox1746@gmail.com
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