Blog
#290 September
29,2022
I
never eat breakfast. I’ll pause now so
you can all express the accepted knowledge that breakfast is the most important
meal. Are you finished? Good.
I like breakfast food – eggs, bacon, hash browns, pancakes,
waffles. I love it all, just not in the
morning. I’m not hungry in the morning. But on Sunday, Carol makes me pancakes for
lunch. She makes great pancakes and it
is always a treat.
Can
you picture a mother and a little boy?
The mother asks, “Want me to make some pancakes, Boy?” The son answers, “Course I do. Ain’tcha my Ma?”
Ain’tcha
my Ma. Say it fast three times and it becomes Aunt
Jemima. My brain is
spectacularly bizarre, isn’t it?
I
remember one morning on Bald Head Island with the entire family, sixteen of
us. Somehow, after all eight
grandchildren had eaten breakfast, Carol and I were alone in the kitchen. I asked her to make me pancakes. A quiet meal of delicious pancakes all by
myself! I was electric with
anticipation. But no sooner had those
hot steamy flapjacks flapped upon my plate than the room began to shake, and a
stampede of little urchins invaded the kitchen screaming for pancakes. “I want the biggest!” “I want the one on the bottom!” “Where’s the syrup?” “Move that old man out of the way.” I got none of the first stack. I guess they all figured if they had my
genes, they could have my pancakes. They
inhaled the second stack, annihilated the third stack, devoured the fourth
stack. Carol was moving faster than the
third zebra trying to get on the Ark.
Then, abruptly, my little vultures, sated and happy, left me like a used
and discarded call girl. All they left
was one, lonely, cold, torn pancake. And
the syrup bottle was gone. I think they
ate it. I love being a grandfather!
This
blog finds us between the Jewish holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, and
if you celebrate those holidays, I wish you a happy and healthy New Year. On the Jewish calendar, the year is
5783. That’s about how old I feel. As for all you Catholics, Protestants, Muslims,
Hindus, Buddhists, Sikhs, Taoists, Confucians, Jains, Druze, Shintoists,
Zoroastrians, Baha’is, agnostics and atheists out there – shalom
and welcome back. I hope you are feeling
well.
An
atheist, by the way, doesn’t believe in God and an agnostic thinks it’s
impossible to know for sure. And then
there’s Mark Twain, who said, “Faith is believing what you know ain’t
so.”
Message
from Shakespeare: O God, I could be bounded in a nut shell and count myself
a king (Hamlet).
There
must be a God, because He put me and Pops together. Pops didn’t count my legs; he just looked in
my face and smiled. And then I bit
him. It was love at first bite. Purr.
How about some news?
The chess world is aghast with the scandalous story of an up-and-coming
player who cheated by getting moves electronically sent to him by co-conspirators. The signals caused vibrations in a device the
challenger had shoved up his behind. But
he got caught in the end (so to speak).
He
was getting instruction, alas,
From
a buzzer he shoved up his ass
But
his fatal mistake
Was
that each move he’d make,
The
buzzer would start passing gas.
The
news is entirely true, and I just could not pass (so to speak) it up.
How
about a story? You like my stories, and you have nothing else to do. Your bridge game doesn’t start for hours. This story is also completely true. We went
to a movie, you-know-who and I. I
dropped her at the entrance. Every
morning she crawls, climbs and stomps around the house doing yoga-esque
contortions and smiling like Richard Simmons on speed. Then she hops on the
treadmill for multiple miles. But it is
apparently too much of an effort for her to walk from the parking lot to the
entrance. So I dropped her. Prince Charming!
She
bought two tickets, and when I entered, she handed me one and went to the
ladies’ room. I showed the attendant the
ticket that said Film A, and was directed to Theater 4. I went in.
No Carol. I picked a seat and
waited. No Carol. I watched the coming trailers, all 827 of
them, at which point Carol entered and, in a voice loud enough to be heard in
Istanbul, said, “You’re in the wrong theater!”
The patrons began to chuckle mercilessly as I slinked sheepishly out to
follow my wife to a different theater.
And how, I hear you snicker, had I wound up in the wrong theater when my
ticket clearly said the movie that was playing there? Well, she asked for Film B, but they printed
Film A tickets by mistake. No big deal;
she just went to the theater showing Film B.
EXCEPT SHE FAILED TO TELL HER
POOR DUMB HUSBAND. And now
everyone in the County is talking about the ignorant bozo who couldn’t find the
right theater and his skinny wife who had to come rescue him. I think tonight I’ll just wear a sign that
says USELESS
SLOB. Best to warn everybody up
front. The movie was copacetic.
I
don’t really understand why she didn’t tell me where to go. She does it all the time. In fact, she and all her buttinsky ancestors
have been telling men where to go, what to say and how to live their lives all
throughout history. For instance,
·
No, Chris, don’t pick the
first New World you see. Let’s keep
looking. Maybe we’ll find one on sale.
·
No, Abe, you don’t need
to waste time shopping now. Let’s go see
a play. And wear that tall hat.
·
Forget it, Arthur, see if
they have a round table.
·
Adam, put down that candy
bar – too much fat. Have an apple
instead.
·
Sorry, Attila, I need
more room. Go conquer Asia; you can keep
your clothes there. Thanks, Hun.
·
What did God offer you,
Moses, eight commandments? Let me talk
to him. I’ll get Him up to ten.
The Weekly Word, copacetic, means barely satisfactory. I
hope this blog was better than that.
Happy New Year again, and have a great week. Stay well and count your blessings.
Useless Slob Send
comments to mfox1746@gmail.com