We have gone full banana republic .
No matter what your political stripe, you should be fretful for your country.
We have gone full banana republic .
No matter what your political stripe, you should be fretful for your country.
It is Thursday and it feels like a Friday. I say that because I took tomorrow off as a vacation day. What? Yes, you in the back? Reasons, that is why.
It is opening day of baseball.my expectations for the Cubbies are low. I hope to win more than they lose. I think the lack of a big strikeout arm will be an issue. I think the lack of consistent offense will be a bigger problem. Lack of offense has plagued the team since the World Series victory in ‘16.
We will see how much attention I pay to my formally favorite sport. I hate the pitch clock. I loathe the designated hitter. I think limiting pitcher’s ability to hold runners on base is stupid. Rickey Henderson would have 2000 stolen bases under these rules.
Hey MLB, I am not the smartest guy in the world, but faster games, including a shortened time between innings, equals fewer commercials. Fewer commercials means less revenue.
Did I mention I hate the pitch clock?
I voluntarily took the grandgirls to Chuck E Cheese yesterday.
No more needs to be said.
A man and a woman were driving down the road, arguing about his deplorable infidelity when suddenly the woman reached over and sliced the man's penis off. Angrily, she tossed it out of the car window.
Happy Friday! It has seemed a long week for some reason. Work has dragged. From being inundated a couple of weeks ago, the emails and phone calls have slowed considerably this week. So it goes.
The granddaughters are coming over tonight to spend the weekend. That will be a blast. By Sunday, the house will look like a Barbie store exploded and scattered tiny shoes and clothes all over the house, but that is what it is all about.
What? Sure, I’ll post some Friday Music, since you asked nicely.
I was going to put up some CCR, but this song popped in my head.
At the risk of inviting trolls of every stripe, my position is clear. If you cannot legally change your name until you are 18, then your name is your name. You will have to use whatever name your mom gave you while you are in school, even if you feel like a Betty now instead of a Barney. If your parents are cool with you being Betty, I am fine, but no secret names while you are at school. You are the name you were registered under.
Ditto your bathroom. Use the “family” facilities, I don’t care, otherwise, your junk specifies which restroom you use.
The house to the left of the old homestead has been a mess and eyesore since we moved in. For most of the time it has been a rental. I think the current guy bought it a couple of years ago. He treats the property like a renter. Early last winter his garbage can blew over and trash spilled out, blowing all over his backyard. The trash is still there. Currently there is trash in my front yard from his garbage can. He put it by the curb yesterday, on trash day. Too bad they had picked up the trash four hours before he dragged the bin to the curb. I will clean up the mess when I go to get the mail. There is zero chance he will pick up after himself.
One renter did not have room for all of her junk, so she piled couches and furniture in the side yard beside my house. After a few days it rained and ruined everything, so she did not bother to take it in. It sat there for nearly a month. I tried to talk to her about it, but she refused to answer the door. I left notes. Both the neighbors across the street and I made numerous calls to the HOA and the city. Finally, it alol disappeared one day.
At least the current guy mows the lawn. The previous occupant didn’t. The bright spot is that that house keeps me from having the worst lawn on the cul-de-sac.
A man and a woman were having a quiet, romantic dinner in a fine restaurant.
They were gazing lovingly at each other and holding hands.
The waitress, taking another order at a table a few steps away,
Suddenly noticed the woman slowly sliding down her chair and under the table but the man stared straight ahead.
The waitress watched as the woman slid all the way down her chair and out of sight under the table.
Still, the man stared straight ahead.
The waitress, thinking this behaviour a bit risque and worried that it might offend other diners, went over to the table and, tactfully, began by saying to the man:
“Pardon me, sir, but I think your wife just slid under the table.”
The man replied:
“Naah, She just arrived at the restaurant..!”
As I look outside and see the ground covered in snow I remember my neighbor telling me yesterday that it would be a cold day in Hell when Purdue lost to a sixteen seed.
Everyone I need to talk to took the day off. Everyone who needs to talk to me has buried me in phone calls and emails today.
It is cold out. If there was moisture it would snow. Hey Ma Nature, spring starts Monday!
How about some Friday music? What happened to you Hey Teacher? You are the only one who liked this feature.
The Big Basketball tournament is starting and I don’t care. I filled out zero brackets, failed to enter an office pool. I simply do not care. I am aware I may have to give up my Hoosier citizenship, but so it goes. Basketball has not been king in the State for a long time.
In other news, inflation is not getting better, any trip to the grocery conforms this fact. If the fed ups interest rates to fight inflation, bank investments become weaker, possibly leading to more bank failures. The effects of Fifteen years of cheap money and printing cash are now being felt.
A man is walking home late at night when he sees a woman in the shadows.
“Twenty bucks,” she says.
He’s never been with a prostitute before, but he decides what the hell.
They are going at it for a minute when all of a sudden a light flashes on them—it’s a policeman.
“What’s going on here, people?” asks the officer.
“I’m making love to my wife,” the man answers indignantly.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” says the cop,
“I didn’t know.”
“Well,” said the man,
“To tell the truth neither did I until you flashed that light on her face.”
I made love to my wife for one hour and three minutes last night. Who’s the man?
Sure it was during the change to DST, but whatever...
I look out the window and appears to be a beautiful spring day. Too bad it is barely above freezing. So it goes in March.
I have about two dozen emails I need to answer. I need information from internal sources, primarily engineering, to respond. I get answers to questions I did not ask, but on key stuff, nothing. I have resorted to sending the customer email so there is no confusion on what is needed. Small complaints. It beats the hell out of breaking my back at the Big Box. Pays significantly better too.
In other news, I hate every elected politician from very party on every level. The bureaucrats employed in government are not any better.
Except for you, whatever government employee/agency tasked with monitoring this drivel. You do a great job and I respect the heck out of you. You are wonderful. If knew who you were I would send a fruit basket; out of respect, not a bribe. You would never take a bribe.
I have been a semi-absent landlord of the old blog for a spell. So it goes. I am sick of politics and my life is boring. That does not leave much to write about. I could tell you I installed a new garage door opener last weekend. The previous one consisted of me opening the door for my wife and the mechanical one before that quit working back in about July of last year. I think I only cursed out-loud one time and in my head there were perhaps a half dozen mutterings.
Part of the big sales meeting last week was working as a group to compose a written sales strategy. I am not always right. I am not the best writer out there, but let me say some of my colleagues are wordy. Anyone who reads here regularly knows I am generally of the Hemingway school; short sentences.
I declare I love short sentences with a long string of words. Appropriate.
Since we are on the topic of words, the novel is right at 60,000 words. That equates to around 250 novel pages or 130 plus regular pages. After almost flowing from my brain, the story has hit the proverbial wall. I know where I want the characters to go, but the words will not come. I need to figure out Fuzzy’s secret, he is pumping out novels right and left.
I am considering scraping the whole thing and rewriting the tale as a coming of age story incorporating the short story I published here years ago about a teen who was bullied by his crush. I don’t know. Mostly I am going to leave things sit until the muse returns. Parts of the current story were written a decade ago, a few weeks will not matter.
Enjoy your Sunday.
Hola readers. I’m back from a four day business trip. It was good to be on the road. Unfortunately, it was a sales meeting. I should not say that, this was one of the more productive and fun meetings I have attended. Not only did we get a lot of work done, we had a good time.
We went to hockey game, played at Top Golf and ate some great food. Despite the fact I have not swung a golf club in at least 15 years, I won one of the games. Maybe because I was rated “beginner” and it was easier for me.
I also saw a couple of customers before and after the meeting. A good trip all around.
I glad to be home, though.
Michael was thinking about how good his wife had been to him and how fortunate he was to have her.
He asked God:
“Why did you make her so kind-hearted?”
The Lord responded:
“So you could love her my son”
Next question:
“Why did you make her so good-looking?”
Reply: “So you could love her my son”
Third one: “Why did you make her such a good cook?”
Response: “So you could love her my son”
Michael thought about this for a while, and then he said:
“I don’t mean to seem ungrateful or anything. But why did you make her so stupid?”
Without hesitation came the answer:
“So she could love you, my son.