February 26, 2023

Horrible rotten sucky awful terrible despicable

 It was only a couple innings of pre-season ball, but I hate, loathe , and scorn the new pitch clock rule in baseball. 

To tell you how much disdain I have, the pitch clock is worse than the designated hitter rule. And the DH ruined baseball.

I spit in your general direction Rob Manfred.

February 25, 2023

But there are no more mean tweets

Biden has released at least four terrorists from Guantanamo so far this year, with no conditions. We paid Belize $300,000 to take one of them.

That is your tax money. . 

Do you feel safer? 

February 24, 2023

Something to ponder

More broadly, the overall number of immigrants — legal and illegal — working was up 2 million in the fourth quarter of 2022 compared to the same quarter of 2019, before the COVID pandemic hit, according to a CIS analysis. That analysis was based on the Current Population Survey collected by the Census Bureau for the Bureau of Labor Statistics. Meanwhile, there were 1.9 million fewer U.S.-born Americans working over the same time period.  source

Emphasis mine. Offered without further comment.  Draw your own conclusions.

February 23, 2023

What I think

 Just because you are offended, it does not make you victimized.

If you need additional explanation, you might be the problem.

February 22, 2023

This is what the old blog has become. A joke

 A guy walks into a bar with his dog but the bartender says,

“Sorry, we don’t allow animals in here.”

The dog replies, “Hey, I’m tired of being discriminated against. Just give me a drink.”

The bartender says, “Oh, no, not another ventriloquist with the old talking dog trick. Both of you, get out of here!”

“No, no, no, this isn’t a trick, I promise you,” says the man,

“I tell you what, I’ll go for a walk around the block and you talk to Rover here.”

The man leaves and the bartender sees him turn the corner.

“Now, can I have my drink.” says the dog.

The bartender is amazed.

“Sure you can and it’s on the house! Listen, can you do me a favour? My wife works next door at the cafe. It’ll make her day if you go in and order a cup of coffee.” Here is ten bucks and you can keep the change afterwards.”

“Okay.” says the dog and he takes the ten dollars and leaves.

Ten minutes go by and the dog doesn’t come back.

The owner returns and asks where is the dog.

So both of them go off to see what has happened to the dog.

As they approach the cafe, they see Rover going at it hot and heavy with a French poodle in the alley between the bar and cafe.

The owner shouts, “Rover! What are you doing! You’ve never done this before!”

“The dog shrugged.

“Hell, I’ve never had any money before.”.”

February 21, 2023

True life adventures

 A man and his wife were sitting in the living room and he said to her,

“Just so you know, I never want to live in a vegetative state,

dependent on some machine and fluids from a bottle.

If that ever happens, just pull the plug.”

His wife got up, Kissed him ever so gently,

unplugged the TV and threw out all of his beer.

February 20, 2023

Exciting Weekend guaranteed to make your heart race

Happy Monday Hoosierboy fans. I hope you had a great weekend, I did. Nothing was accomplished, but it passed pleasantly nonetheless. 

On Saturday the wife babysat in the afternoon and while she was gone I sat in front of the Tv and watched something and napped and watched more stuff. In the evening we went to visit some friends. We ate Mexican food and played cards. I drank one whole beer! It was a wild Saturday night!

Sunday I watched tv and napped and watched more stuff. The wife went to a pampered chef party. 

The amount of sheer excitement likely leaves you overwhelmed.

Now it is Monday. The  fun rolls on like a runaway freight train filled with toxic chemicals. 

February 18, 2023


 If you choose to watch the Hulu series about 1619, be warned, you will be dumber and less educated after viewing it. 

February 17, 2023

Posting with my phone and it will not format right

In all honesty, I do not have anything to write about here at the old blogeroo. Politics bores me. You do not care about the weather. I do nothing of interest. 

Lately my creative efforts have gone into writing and rewriting on my novel. In truth, that thing will likely never see the light of day. I am afraid I have written 55,000 words of drivel so far. I have sent off my efforts to a very good friend who writes for a living. I trust his opinion. You have likely seen him on TV or read his work. He is a terrific journalist. While we probably don’t agree on stuff politically, that does not mean he isn’t a talented writer. 

Anyway I need affirmation or tough love from an honest critic and he will provide that input. I am sure he will find a nice way to say “juvenile and hackneyed “ without sounding mean. 

Have a great Friday.

February 16, 2023

On this day

 Happy birthday, Mom

I miss you more than you can imagine

February 15, 2023

Indecent Proposal

 A boss said to his secretary, “I want to make love with you, but I will make it very fast.

I’ll throw $1,000 on the floor and by the time you bend down to pick it up, I’ll be done.”

She thought for a moment then called her boyfriend and told him the story. Her boyfriend said, “Do it but ask him for $2,000. Then pick up the money so fast, he won’t even have enough time to undress himself.” She agrees.

After half an hour passes, the boyfriend calls the girlfriend and asks, “So what happened?”

She responds, “The …bastard…..used …..coins”

February 14, 2023


 Happy Valentine’s Day to all f you lovers out there 

February 13, 2023


 Joe was sitting at a bar. He was totally depressed. The bartender, serving him a drink, asked what was wrong.

“I’ll never understand women.” – said Joe.

“The other night on my birthday, my wife said as my gift, I could do with her what I wanted.”

“Wow! That’s quite some gift.” – said the bartender.

“So why are you so dejected?”

“Well I thought about it for a while” said Joe, “and decided to send her home to her mother, and now she won’t even speak to me!”

February 12, 2023

You may or may not be curious

 I’m not dead. I am busy doing other stuff 

Thank you for stopping by

February 8, 2023

State of the Union Recap

 i didn’t watch. I don’t care what that bag of wind had to say. I know the state of the union when I go to the grocery or I buy gas. 

February 7, 2023


 It will be warm today but it will rain this afternoon. 

I started growing my beard on a November 1 last year. I kept it neat and trimmed. On a whim, I shaved it off February first. On Saturday, February 04, my wife said “Hey, you shaved!” I’m glad she noticed.

Speaking of noticing things, did you know it is Black History Month? There has been nothing said about it in print, television, news stories, or posts on social media. I don’t want you to miss it. 

February 6, 2023

The next Raoul Lufbery

There has not been a Balloon Ace in more than 100 years. Some anonymous pilot has his first kill.

February 5, 2023

Meanwhile, in the far distant past

 Near the end of July, Jeff announced he was having a party at his parent’s lake house to celebrate “graduation, the end of summer, going off to college, and the last high school fling.” The first weekend in August, Sarah and I piled into the back seat of Tim Flynn’s car. Jenny Moore was in the front chattering away with excitement. Tim was driving his mother’s new Pontiac Bonneville. Rock music exploded through the stereo speakers as we flew down the highway. A faint smell of corn and dirt seeped through the open windows.

We pulled into the yard at the lake house and parked beside several other cars. Sarah and Jenny went inside to change, Tim and I went around to the back. There was a tub of beer on ice on the deck. The Bee Gees were playing at high volume while Jerry Schwartz tried to imitate John Travolta’s solo dance steps from Saturday Night Fever. He was not good at it.

I reached into the ice and pulled out a beer. “Turn that crap off!” I shouted. “Disco Sucks” echoed Tim, pulling the tab from his own beer. Sarah walked out of the house wearing a strapless red bikini. She looked stunning. I promptly gave her a wolf whistle.

Sarah struck a pose and asked, “Buy me a drink, Sailor?” I asked her what she wanted and she said beer was fine. Jenny was pouring vodka into a plastic cup half-full of orange juice. She watched Jerry for a minute and shook her head. Some people were splashing in the lake and jumping off the dock. There was a group of kids playing volleyball at a net set up in the grass.

Jeff appeared around the corner. “Get over here, Wyatt” he shouted. Sarah and Jenny walked down to the dock where several other girls were sunning. Tim and I walked around the corner. The Anderson brothers were throwing horseshoes. “Come on, let’s play,” said Bill. Tim grunted that horseshoes was an old man’s game. “Not if you make it into a drinking game,” laughed the elder Anderson brother. Someone finally turned the radio to a rock station.

Later in the afternoon someone went to town and brought back buckets of chicken and slaw. I sat with Sarah and Rachael Morris on the edge of the dock. Jeff plopped down and spilled half the coleslaw from his plate onto his lap. We all laughed. He slipped into the water to rinse off. “No Problem,” he said.  Asked him if we could go skiing. He said his parents had forbidden use of the speed boat.

As I walked to the garbage bin to throw away our collected plates, I spied a canoe upturned by the house. I chugged my beer and grabbed the canoe and dragged to the water’s edge. I went over to my clothes and found a cigar and stuck it in my mouth, unlit. “Sarah, my dear, shall we go boating?” I asked with a terrible British accent.

Sarah shook her head. “You do not know how to paddle a canoe.”

I straightened to attention. “I will have you know I earned my Canoeing Merit Badge as a Boy Scout. I am an excellent canoer, uh, canoeist, um, canoe driver, ah, canoe captain. You will accompany me, woman,” I ordered. Sarah laughed and followed me to the edge of the lake.

I pushed the canoe in and held the stern while she climbed in. “Hold the gunwales, that is the sides, and walk straight up the middle one foot behind the other,” I instructed. Sarah reached the bow and turned and sat in the seat facing me.

“I hope you are not planning on me helping paddle this thing, Mr. Expert,” she intoned. I told her to have no fear. I was in command and control.

I pushed the boat off and jumped in. I paddled a few strokes to get us past the dock and then turned the canoe parallel to the shore with expertise. “You might really know what you are doing, even if you are half-wasted,” she said. I assured her I was highly skilled. Sarah leaned back.  I couldn’t help but admire her body.

“You look ravishing, My Dear,” I told her, still staying in character. The water sparkled with reflected sunlight. Sweat droplets ran down my back. I stuck the cigar back between my teeth and rocked the canoe side to side.

“Stop. You will tip us and I do not want to get my hair wet.” I rocked again, laughing. “Stop it, Sam,” Sarah said sternly. She gave me a mock angry look. I do not know why; at that very moment I deliberately tipped the canoe over.

Sarah came up from the water sputtering and spitting. “Sam Wyatt you are an asshole,” she shouted.

I dog paddled a few strokes to her. Using my best Dudley Do-Right impersonation, I shouted “I’ll save you, Penelope.” I reached across her chest, pulling her onto her back, life-saving style. I took advantage of the situation to grope her breast and began to kiss her in mock mouth-to-mouth breathing. She pulled away and swatted at me. At this point she was laughing. She told me I really was a jerk. I stood up. The water only came to my chest.

Sarah swam around and put her arms around my neck and wrapped her legs around my waist. I supported her bottom as she kissed me. “You are really a jerk,” she whispered, “But I love you anyway.” She gave me a quick peck and a crooked smile. I could only grin.

Evening came. The sun painted the horizon with orange and purple hues. The drinking tapered off as we helped clean up the mess. The girls changed and we all piled back into Tim’s car for the drive home. We had the windows open, enjoying the cool breeze after the day in the sun. Jenny was pretty drunk from the screwdrivers. She swayed a little in the seat as she tuned through the radio stations looking for something that pleased her. She looked over at Tim, her face pale. “Honey, I think I am going to be sick.”

Tim started to slow the car looking for a safe place to pull over. “Do not puke in the car!” he ordered. Jenny promptly reached into her bag and threw up into her damp beach towel. The car was still moving fairly quickly down the highway, there was no shoulder, only a ditch beside the road. Tim accelerated trying to find a pull-off.

Jenny took the towel and shook it out the window. Instantly, the slipstream grabbed the mess of half-digested chicken, chunks of slaw, and alcohol and splashed it into the backseat and directly onto my face. I promptly vomited all over the floor. “Not in the car,” wailed Tim. The odor of vomit engulfed the back seat. Sarah took one look at my vomit-splattered face and promptly threw up on her lap and all over the floorboard. “Not in the car, not in the car,” cried Tim. Jenny turned to see what was going on and promptly puked again, this time all over the front seat. Tim found a place to pull over. He put the car in park and held his head in his hands. “Not in the car,” he moaned.

February 4, 2023

Don’t Look Back

Thanks for the great response to my writing attempts. 

I’m going to post another section from the book tomorrow, it is much longer and quite different in tone. I woke up Friday morning at a little after 5:00 AM with the passage I will post very nearly written in its entirety in my head. 

Do not be afraid to offer criticism. I am a big boy.

Here is some music for your Saturday.

February 2, 2023


I sat on the edge of Carrie’s old twin bed. Weak sunlight filtered in through the opening of the pink curtains. I unsnapped the plastic case and took out Dad’s old pistol. It was a snub nosed .38. The chrome was worn in places, but the barrel was clean and the gun was oiled. The weapon was the very definition of a Saturday Night Special; compact and deadly. Dad used to keep it in his desk at the bank, I suppose in a misguided notion he could foil a holdup or something.

The pistol had a reassuring heft. I had fired it many years ago. It had a little kick for such a small gun. The hole it left in the paper target was serious enough. I held the pistol to my head and pulled the trigger. Snap. I opened the box of shells and counted them. There were nineteen. I fed five shells into the cylinder even though I only planned on using one.

I had never felt such…despair was not the right word…hopelessness. I was drowning in my very existence. For the first time in my life, I just did not care about anything. It was as if weights were on my legs, my shoulders, my arms, my fingertips, my lungs, and my heart. I was pressed down by the enormity and futility of it all. It was like that touch of panic claustrophobia you felt when you found yourself in a dark tight spot -- the crawlspace under the house, in a closet, or crawling to reach something that rolled under the bed. It was like that panic, only magnified – it was the claustrophobia of living.

“Not here,” I thought. Not on Carrie’s bed. I walked down the hall. I could never leave such a mess in the bedroom I shared with Sarah.  I went outside to the backyard. I sat on a chair, cocked the gun, and held it to my temple. I heard the kids next door laughing and splashing in their little blow-up pool. For the next sixty years, to those children, I would be the neighbor who offed himself. I gently squeezed the trigger and lowered the hammer with my thumb.

I sat on the patio until darkness fell. I walked inside and unloaded the gun and returned it to its plastic box. I put the shells back into the carboard carton. I sat in my recliner and opened a bottle of bourbon.

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