Blog #382                                         July 4, 2024

 

In our glorious quest to browse every fast-food restaurant, Carol and I and some friends visited Jack in the Box, my favorite.  Their Chicken Teriyaki Bowl is absolutely gourmet.  I love it.  It came with a very tasty, crisp eggroll and an empty cup.  I searched for a conventional soft-drink dispenser, but what I found instead was a gleaming, modern behemoth that looked like Robby the Robot with acne.  On closer inspection, the acne dots turned out to represent the various beverage choices that this amazing, technological beast had to offer.  I chose Sweet Tea and pressed the circle.  A little light came on: not available.  Ok, I’m flexible.  How about Unsweet Tea: not available.  My steamy, delicious teriyaki bowl was waiting, so I decided to go right to Diet Coke: not available.  What?  The single most-sold soft drink in the Western Hemisphere was sold out?  That’s like an undertaker running out of coffins.

 

What to do?  I was already in the cluster of acne dots representing Coke products, and I saw one labeled Peach Coke.  I had never heard of Peach Coke before.  It sounded like a strange combination to me, like chocolate eggs or shrimp Jell-O, but I was becoming desperate.  I pressed the button, and the dot lit up, indicating it was available.  Of course it was; what tasteless and unsophisticated moron would drink Peach Coke?  Apparently, I not only fit the category of tasteless moron, but qualified as a dithering, useless, old doofus as well, because I could not find the right button that would convince Robby to spit the Peach Coke into my cup.  I asked for help and received it from a nice attendant.  Was I embarrassed?  No.  I do not do machines; everybody knows that.  I have other fine qualities, and given enough time, I might think of one.  Anyway, my cup filled with Peach Coke and I went back to my table and ate my Teriyaki Chicken Bowl.  It was warm and sweet and delicious.  Perfect.  I enjoyed it.  The Peach Coke tasted like shrimp Jell-O.

 

Happy Fourth of July!  I really think that the Fourth of July should be moved to December so that we can start the fireworks at 5:00 when it gets dark instead of 9:00.  We old people need to get to bed early.  Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well and have recovered from last week’s Presidential debate.  I’m not sure I have anything to say about that, which is odd.  I usually have plenty to say about everything.  Maybe later.

 

Ok, it’s later.  Here’s what perplexes me:  The Democrats are apoplectic.  “Oh, my God, Joe had a bad debate.  He can’t be the President.  Throw him under the bus.  How can this have been such a surprise to them?  Where have they been the past three years?  Did they never see Joe stumble or fumble or wobble?  Did they only watch CNN?  Even the women on The View are saying Joe should step down.  How can they have been so surprised?

 

But let’s move on to something much more important – my wife’s birthday, which was Tuesday.  I arose slowly in the morning and waited for my brain to determine what the abrupt change from horizontal to vertical really meant.  I limped into the bathroom and took a pill for my heart.  Then I rubbed on some cream to help my dry skin and walked slowly to the study, favoring my hip.  I got my 2.75 reading glasses, took some fiber pills and a Senior Multi-Vitamin.  Carol walked in looking fresh and perky.  She had just finished the treadmill, done her yoga and was on her way to play golf.  I wished her happy birthday.  Poor girl is getting old.

 

She received a plethora of phone calls and cards and well wishes for her birthday.  She even received a message from one of her favorite stores.  They’ve missed her:

 

This summer our styles are fantastic

And the sales and discounts are drastic

So bring your small carcass

Down to Neiman Marcus

‘Cause we miss your smile – and your plastic

 

Let’s make our Weekly Word behemoth.  It means an extremely large or powerful entity.  Like Godzilla or Mt. Everest or Donald Trump’s ego.

 

Every day, I exercise Shakespeare.  Here’s how that works.  We sit at one end of the hall and I roll a ping-pong ball to the other end.  He either chases it or he doesn’t.  Either way, I have to go to the other end, pick up the ball and roll it back.  Sometimes he’s really into it and runs his fur off.  Other times he just sits and watches the old man going up and down the hall.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  Wisely, and slow. They stumble that run fast. (Romeo and Juliet).  I do love my Pops, but he is a ridiculous old fool.  I have him trained now to run up and down the hall chasing a ball.  Can you imagine?  He’s such a good boy.  Purr. 

 

And speaking of fools, My Mama didn’t raise no fools.  Did you ever use that phrase?  Even though the grammar is terrible, I bet most of you have said it.  I’ve used it a few times, and each time, Carol looks me in the eye and says, “Your mother raised three complete fools”!  She is right, of course.  Fool #1 was my older sister, who was nuts.  She thought she was smarter than everyone else, including doctors and never went to one.  She died at the age of 63 from a curable disease.  Fool #2 was my older brother, a lovable and outrageous eccentric.  He never went to a doctor because that would be admitting that he might, someday, get sick.  He died at the age of 61 from a different, but curable, disease.  Fool #3, of course, is me.  My wife says the only smart thing I ever did was marry her.  Her humility overwhelms me.

 

In this blog, I have already been called a fool by my wife, my cat and the person at Jack in the Box.  I need a hug.  I’ll settle for your coming back next week.  Maybe by then we’ll know if Joe Biden is still running for President.  I bet he will be.  Meanwhile, stay well and count your blessings. 

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com