Blog
#348 November
9, 2023
This
world is a total mess. I don’t need to
tell you that. You watch the news just
like me, and it is painfully clear that something needs to change. The problem is that the world is run by men. Men are useless. We can’t dress. We’re always lost. Every decision we make is wrong (at least
that’s what Carol tells me). Let’s turn
the World over to women. If we do, we
won’t need the UN or NATO any more, just the A Group and the B
Group. And there wouldn’t be any
more wars. Women don’t make war. It would just be: “I’m not calling
France. I called last time and she
didn’t call back. It’s her turn to
call. Oh, and there was a tsunami in Sri
Lanka? Send a tray.”
Those
men never know what they’re do-N
They
totally messed up the U-N
To
deal with Iran
We
don’t need a man
They’re
not good for much except screw-N.
Hi
there and welcome back. I hope you are warm
and healthy and not hungry. If you are,
you won’t be after you listen to this.
Have you heard of Feet Loaf? It was a popular main dish at Halloween
parties and consisted of cooked meatloaf molded into the shape and size of a
human foot, complete with sliced onions or radishes for toenails. I would not make this up. It’s revolting! Is that what we have come to? Dinner made to look like human body
parts? I mean, what are they going to do
with Rump Roast? I can see a whole meal
composed of Toe-mato soup, macaro-knee, with
chocolate-hip cookies for dessert. We could
serve it all with some fava beans and a nice
Chianti.
As much as I hate
technology, some of it is pretty amazing.
Under my bed is a machine the size of an apple pie that is connected to
my Pacemaker by radio waves. My
Pacemaker, besides making paces and threatening to whap the crap out of me
should I need it, records my heart activity on a continuous basis. Wait, I had to stop there and think about the
difference between continuous and continual. Continuous
means non-stop without interruption. The
Moon revolves around the Earth continuously.
Continual means over and over again.
My wife continually criticizes my driving.
So, the thing under my bed continuously
records my heart activity. Every three
months, without my help or knowledge, it transmits a record of my heart
activity by telephone to Dr. Rhythm.
Easy-peasy! But there is also an
option where I can manually transmit to the doctor. Last Thursday and Friday, I noticed some
twinges that felt to me like the pacemaker was doing something. The method for manual transmission is so
simple, a hamster could do it. You pick
up the mouse-like device from the machine, press the button, put the mouse over
your pacemaker, wait, put it back, you’re done. Then I called Dr. Rhythm, and you know
what? It worked! They received the transmission and it showed
no episodes of activity. Everything’s good. Have a nice day. Pet the hamster.
Message
from Shakespeare: Not
a mouse shall disturb this hallowed house (A Midsummer
Night’s Dream.) Wait, did he say there was a hamster in the
house? And a mouse too? Where are they, Pops? Maybe they would play with me. Purr.
We had dinner recently with some
old friends, a judge and his wife. We
had a very nice time and really didn’t discuss any judginess. I just made that word up, which makes it a neologism, a newly coined word or expression. We’ll let neologism be our Weekly Word. What we did
discuss was all the people we knew and what widow was dating which widower, who
had what medical condition and so on, something we call Jewish Geography. Jewish
Geography used to be easier when our memories were a little sharper, but now
--- well, I think we need a little help.
Wouldn’t it be nice to have an app to remind us of the things we used to
know? We’ll call it Hoozat. You just point your phone at the familiar-looking
woman in the green blouse and say Hey,
Siri, Hoozat? And Siri will immediately respond:
That
is Lois G. -- University City class of ’59.
Her husband died four years ago.
She dated a man named Frank for a few months, but he wanted sex, so she
dumped him. Don’t mention her daughter
Roberta who hasn’t talked to her in thirty years. And don’t mention her weight; she’s gained
twenty pounds since the last time you saw her, which was at her granddaughter’s
bat mitzvah in 2020. That little bitch
never sent you a thank-you note, did she?
Now that’s what we need to know!
I just heard my wife talking
on the phone with one of her friends.
The friend must have had a juicy tidbit of local gossip to relate,
because I heard the phrase “just
between you and me.” I had to smile, because I know what that means
between girls. Just between you and me translates into
you’re the 19th person I have told since breakfast and I’m only up
to F in my contacts.
I am a big Stephen King fan, having read 61 of his
books. When King, in an introduction,
speaks to us, his loyal fans, he calls us constant reader. I have my own wonderful readers
and they often send me comments. I got
one this morning from one of my lady readers, who called herself one of my
groupies. Groupie? I have groupies? That could be the most exciting thing I’ve
ever heard in my life – next to Carol saying I do and the doctor
saying It’s a girl, It’s a girl and It’s a
girl. Suddenly I feel like a
rock star. Later, I ran into a friend
who looked glum. What’s the matter, I
asked? I have shingles, he said. You may have shingles, but I have
groupies.
Well, that’s it, little
Groupies (I just love that).
I’m finished, but I’ll be back next week. You don’t have to do anything. I’ll have my people call your people. Until then, stay well, count your blessings
and pray for Israel. And remember: this
is just between you and me.
Michael Send
comments to mfox1746@gmail.com
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