Blog #310                                February 16, 2023

 

Grandchild #3 (Alyssa) has been accepted into college.  She’s first in her high-school graduating class of 650, so I wasn’t worried about her.  Hey, it’s my blog and I can brag about my grandchildren.  I texted her congratulations.  She texted back that she was still waiting to hear from a few other schools.  She said she hoped she would get into Washington University here in St. Louis so she could be close to me.  I said “That’s great!  You could major in Bullshit.”  I guess that would be a BS Degree.

 

Hi there, welcome back and Happy Valentine’s Day.  I hope you are feeling well and staying warm.  On the radio this morning, they said, “The temperature is 33, but it feels like 27,” so I called up the weather service and asked them what 27 felt like.  They said 22.

 

Did you get a lot of Valentine’s candy from your Sweetie?  I have a Valentine story to tell you.  I’ve probably told it to you before, but it is 100% true, and a little . . . well, embarrassing.  One Valentine’s Day, many years ago, I went out and bought Carol all her favorite candy and a gushy, frilly, loving card.  She got me a pair of boxer shorts, no card.  The boxers were pink with dozens of little red hearts.  Ok, we hugged and I threw the shorts in a drawer while she ate her delicious candy.

 

Six years later.  I had been alone for five days.  Carol was at a spa somewhere in Utah, but from there she was flying to Phoenix and I was going to meet her for a little vacation.  The night before I left, I finished packing and went to bed early.  In the morning when I began to dress, I noticed that all my underwear was either in the laundry or in the suitcase except for one folded-up pair of boxers scrunched at the back of the drawer.  I grabbed it.  It was pink with little red hearts.  Well, shoot!  All the rest were packed and nobody was going to see them anyway.

 

Four hours later.  I landed in Phoenix and was picked up by my friend Frank.  Before dropping me at my hotel, he first wanted to pick up something at his house.  We got there, and when he opened the front door, Rosy, his seventy-pound killer Rottweiler, lunged past him and immediately bit me in the butt.  Frank was beside himself with concern.  He begged me to pull down my pants so he could see if I was bleeding.  Well, I didn’t care if I was bleeding!  I didn’t care if I had rabies!  I didn’t care if Lon Chaney Jr. jumped out of a potted plant and told me I was going to turn into a werewolf!  All I cared about was that I was wearing pink underwear with red hearts and I was not about to expose them to Frank or anyone else.  He insisted; I refused.  Did your mother ever tell you not to wear torn underwear?  You might get hit by a bus and the doctor will see, she would say.  Mother was always right about those things.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  If I had my mouth, I would bite (Much Ado About Nothing).  Just show me the animal that bit my Pops and I will scratch its eyes out.  Yes, I do bite my Pops sometimes, but he’s mine and I have to train him.  He’s a good boy.  Purr.

 

Are you becoming frightened with all these balloon objects floating over our country?  They just found another one – white, huge, floating over the Canadian-US border.  Air Force pilots reported it was a life-sized effigy of Donald Trump wearing a hat that read MAKE AMERICA FLOAT AGAIN.  The pilots claim to have shot it down.  Trump denies it.

 

I get so many nice comments from you, and I am very appreciative and humble to receive them.  I got one last week from a reader who said she was “addicted” to Limerick Oyster and just had to have it every Thursday.  Wasn’t that nice?  An addiction is usually not good, but I don’t think that a few jokes and a limerick every week could be so terrible.  Here’s one of those limericks.

 

Do not get addicted to weed

Or heroin, pain pills or speed

No booze and no porn

But each Thursday morn

It’s Limerick Oyster you need.

 

And, at no extra charge, you learn a new word every week.  Our Weekly Word is effigy, which means a sculpture or model of a person.  There are plenty of effigies of our nation’s 46 Presidents.  Actually, there have only been 45, but Cleveland gets counted twice because – well, why not?  Monday, of course, is Presidents Day.  When I was younger (in Grover Grover Cleveland Cleveland’s day) I used to hold these men in awe.  The glorious iconic leaders like Washington and Lincoln and Eisenhower.  To me, they were heroic, trustworthy, brave.  Now I am older, and I have been often disappointed with the more-recent Presidents.  Some have been moral midgets.  Some have been mental midgets.  All we need is Snow White.

 

On Presidents Day, we commemorate the day in 1778 when George Washington sold his first sofa and lounge chair to James Madison. Free delivery and no payments until 1780.

 

Next Tuesday is the day after Presidents’ Day, which is significant in its own way.  On this day in 1778, the first return in American history occurred when James Madison brought back the sofa and lounge chair to George because they were damaged in delivery.  Madison had no trouble transporting the furniture.  He used his Dolly.

 

I know you often think there is method to my madness, but sometimes, in truth, there is just madness.

 

The Super Bowl was entertaining.  The halftime show, not so much.  Look, I admit Rihanna is not in my music era.  My music era began with the Everly Brothers and ended with the Zombies, but I suppose her music is popular.  But a superstar, performing on stage while rubbing her butt and her pubic areas is, in my humble and aged opinion, repulsive.

 

I’ll leave you with that wholesome image and hope you come back next week.  You have to – you’re addicted.  Stay well and count your blessings.

 

Michael                                             Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com