Blog # 341                                         September 21, 2023

 

Well, they finally caught the fugitive murderer, Danelo Cavalcante in Pennsylvania and managed to take a group photo so every one of the 500 police officers, who couldn’t find the five-foot-tall, depraved Brazilian for two weeks, could have a souvenir of their epic victory.  And it wasn’t even the police who caught him; it was a dog.  Now each clueless officer can hang the group photo on the wall next to his deer-antlers and tell his grandkids what a hero he was.  Five hundred of them couldn’t find one guy for two weeks!  Carol doesn’t agree with me, of course.  I heard they even gave a copy of the photo to the little Brazilian.  He hung it on the wall in his cell with a caption that read, “These clowns couldn’t find the water from the deck of a cruise ship.” 

 

 

I went grocery shopping today.  First, of course, I went to my McDonald’s. Yes, it’s my McDonald’s!  I’ve gone there every morning for years and it’s mine.  But I haven’t been there for a few weeks.  They must have missed me, because I saw a customer buy a carton of milk, and my picture was on it.

 

Back to the grocery store.  I don’t know what news stations you watch, but if they are telling you that inflation is down and Bidenomics has made everything better, don’t buy a used car from them.  My electric bill is up 30%.  The cable bill goes up $20 every time Trump gets indicted.  I don’t buy clothes, but I do shop at grocery stores.  I have been doing most of the shopping for three years, and you know I pay attention to numbers.  Don’t ever mess with me when it comes to numbers.  I may be lousy at a million other things, but numbers are my specialty.

 

There are so many talents I lack

But I have a numerical knack

To constantly count

Any sum or amount

If it goes up or down, I keep track.

 

The same bag of cat food that was under $9 three years ago is now $11.50.  Lettuce is through the roof.  Carol’s favorite candy is up 25% in the last year.  No wonder the restaurants are so expensive.  They have to buy food too.  And my home insurance just went up 30%.  I might have to start charging you for Limerick Oyster. 

 

Only kidding.  I certainly wouldn’t pay to read the rantings of an obsessive, misanthropic lunatic who knows the price of Great Value Vanilla Sandwich Cookies from three years ago ($1.24).  Now they’re $2.39. 

 

It looks like Fall has somehow crept upon us while we weren’t watching.  I’m looking forward to it.  Fall is my favorite season -- mid 70s, low humidity, wisps of clouds punctuating an otherwise blue sky.  Hi there, and welcome back.  I hope you are feeling good and appropriately Autumnal. 

 

Speaking of things I buy at the grocery, let’s talk about lunch.  Carol thinks it’s her wifely duty to make me lunch.  I won’t put up with it.  Men and women have a different approach to food.  Take the peanut butter and jelly classic.  A woman takes an artisan, whole wheat slice, centers it on a small plate, spreads a thin patina of peanut butter over it, whispers the essence of jelly on top and covers it with a matching slice of bread.  Then she cuts the crust off and places two baby carrots on the plate.

 

A man takes bread – any kind of damn bread, Ritz cracker or leftover hotdog bun – something that will hold the gigantic glops of peanut butter and gargantuan globules of jelly he dumps on it indiscriminately, then throws the whole mess on a big plate with some BBQ potato chips.  Does anybody see a difference here?  And what is the thing about cutting off the crust?  Does every woman carry a genetic imperative to slice off the crust of her man’s PB&J as if it were his foreskin?  Don’t they know that Adam made a deal with God?  You can have my foreskin, God, but don’t touch the crust on my PB&J.

 

I spoke last week about my previous operations.  Have you forgotten already?  I remember, during the home recovery from my hip replacement, Carol placed a bell on my nightstand.  She realized she couldn’t possibly hear my voice over the constant cacophony of Joy Behar, Pat Sajak and Ken Jennings in the other room, so she gave me a bell.  It’s the kind those Swiss people used to ring on the Ed Sullivan Show.  Grab it by the handle and shake it and – OMG, here comes Hurricane Carol whooshing down the hall to satisfy my beck and my call.  Such a good girl! This, my friends, is power!  This is the power of a Sultan to call his harem, the power of a shepherd to gather his flock, the power of a dictator to summon a crowd.  I loved it!  I used my bell at least twice a day to summon my speedy Florence Nightingale even though I didn’t need her. 

 

Well, she figured that out and informed me that this taking-care-of-me crap was getting old.  She repossessed my bell (she called it busting my bells) and informed me that we were now getting back to our usual routine – keeping her happy.  Now my nightstand is as empty as Lady Godiva’s closet; as empty as Al Capone’s safe; as empty as a hermit’s address book; as empty as Mitch McConnell’s brain.  Was that enough?

 

Message from Shakespeare:  I go, and it is done. The bell invites me (Macbeth).  He tried that bell with me, but cats don’t come running (in my case limping) to a bell.  What does he thing I am, some ignorant puppy?  I’ll move when I want to move.  Purr.

 

What’s our Weekly Word?  How about cacophony?  It means a harsh, discordant mixture of sounds.  To me, that’s what most television is.

 

But the tinkling of a little bell is not cacophonous.  Maybe I can find that old night stand bell and use it to summon you back here next week.  Until then, stay well, count your blessings and be here on time.  Can you remember all that?  Or is your brain as empty as – oh, never mind.  See you all next week.  No charge. 

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com