Possible Kidnapping!

Winfield, MO--October 29, 2004. Last night my 16-yr old son Dan had two friends over—Karl (17 yrs old) and Dan F. (16 yrs old). The way it was explained to me was, they were all going to play Fooseball at our house for a while, and then Dan F. was going to go to go spend the night at Jake’s (another friend’s) house. So they played Fooseball until about 8 pm, then they all walked Dan F. over to Jake’s house. While they were gone, I was brushing my teeth and I heard someone banging on the door like they were going to bust it down. I went to the door and there was Karl’s dad, with his cell phone, all in a panic, wanting to know where Dan F. was. Luckily, right then my Dan and Karl showed up and explained that he was at Jake’s house. Apparently Dan F.’s mom found out he wasn’t there earlier and was convinced he was kidnapped and had panicked because she didn’t know where he was. She went and got him and now he is in big trouble. These are 16-year old boys. In a small town. On a Friday night. Not drinking. Not driving around. Not smoking dope. Definitely not kidnapped. Believe me, no one would want them.

I put a picture on the blog by downloading a program called "Hello", and going through it. There are instructions here:

http://help.blogger.com/bin/answer.py?answer=324&topic=17

PICTURE THIS!

Sometimes I run across some great pictures but I don't know how to post them on the Cud. Can either of you give me a cookbook answer?

GO FIGURE!

I tried Mary's diagnostic test for my computer's sound problem. I unplugged the speaker cable from the computer and plugged it into my Walkman. At first all I got was static. Just when I decided that meant it was the speakers, the static miraculously ended and a beautiful, crisp sound emerged. I was able to turn the sound up and turn it down. Aha! It must be the computer--the sound card, as Mary suggested. Then I unplugged the Walkman and plugged the cable back into the computer so I wouldn't lose it in the rat's nest behind my desk. THEN--Are you ready for this? Here I should do like all those multi-forwarded jokes and have you scroll down . . . keep scrolling . . . scroll a little farther . . . THE SOUND WAS STILL GOOD!!! I could still turn it up and turn it down (especially down). No BLAP, no BOOM-DAH-BOOM--BAH. In short, it is fixed. (For how long, is another matter.) As we used to say in Bensonhurst--"Go figure."

Texas Cud-- This is one way to check if your speakers are okay:

Unplug the cable from the back of the computer, and insert the stereo plug into the headphone jack of a Walkman, Discman or FM radio and play music. If the speakers are ON and working and the cable is good, you should hear the music from the walkman on the speakers.

If your speakers check out okay, then maybe it is your sound card??

GURU WANTED--FAST!

I'm having a problem with my computer. Actually, my speakers. One day they started ringing like a telephone. It was really weird. I thought it was maybe a poltergeist, so I turned them off. The next day they weren't ringing any more, but whenever I had anything with sound, the volume was LOUD. I mean, blast-you-out-of-the-chair loud. I have this anti-pop-up program that destroys pop-up ads. Everytime it zaps a pop-up, it gives a little "pop" sound. A discreet "pop," kind of like a polite burp. But now, with these out-of-control speakers, it is going BLAAAP! BLAAAP! BLAAAP! And when this friend of mine sends me cute cartoon stuff set to music, it sounds like those cars kids drive around in rattling your windows with their rap music. BOOM-BIDDY-BOOM-BAH-BOOM! What to do? I tried turning the little knob on the speaker down, but it didn't change anything. I went through all this computer-troubleshooting routine, going to Control Panel, etc., etc., and turning down the volume there. That didn't do any good either. Any ideas, anybody? Is it my computer? Or do I need to junk these speakers and buy new ones? Hello out there? I CAN'T HEAR YOU!!!

The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly

Most of this isn't really news anymore, but I don't know if you heard about all of this.


The Good:

The Ansari X Prize was finally won! What the heck is the Ansari X Prize? It is a $10 Million cash prize awarded to the first team that:

* Privately finances, builds & launches a spaceship, able to carry three people to 100 kilometers (62.5 miles)
* Returns safely to Earth
* Repeats the launch with the same ship within 2 weeks

I didn't think anybody would ever be able to do it. I don't know exactly who it is that won, but I think they were sponsored by one of the computer geeks that started Apple.


The Bad:

Christophe Reeves died. I really liked Christopher Reeves. He was cool, even if the last couple of Superman movies were kind of cheesy. My favorite Christopher Reeve movie was Deathtrap with Michael Caine. I don't want to give away the plot, but it was a really good movie. It was one of those murder mystery movies that twists the plot around three or four times so you can't guess what is going to happen next.


The Ugly:

(WARNING: Men might want to just ignore this part)

I don't even know how to describe this. I had heard of weird things, like female urinals, or homemade, reusable tampons and pads, but this was even weirder than that. I don't even want to describe it, and please, don't get me this for Christmas.

Who Else Is Running, Anyway?

Well, since you are going to push the subject, I'm definitely not voting for Beaver. Personally, I don't think he's Beaver Cleaver. He's more of a Gilligan, and Kerry is the Skipper, or maybe the Professor. Anyway, I'm not voting for the Beav, or Gilligan, or whoever you want to call him. I'm voting Libertarian, just like the last election. Yes, that's right, I wasted a perfectly good vote for Gore last time. It's probably my fault he lost the election.

Speaking of the election, I was driving home the other day and noticed a lot of those yard signs saying Kerry or Bush. Then I passed a yard full of signs that said Jesus. I didn't even know he was running. Who is his running mate, John the Baptist, or maybe Moses.

I've Been Transfered

I knew working for the phone company would be a lot different than working in a factory that makes window cleaner and furniture polish. I knew it would take some getting used to. But there was a side-effect I didn't expect. I've been transfered. At least, my dreams have all been transfered. Now, all of a sudden, when I'm dreaming, I'm in California. Sometimes I go to Texas, but usually it's California. I meet my friends in San Bernardo and West Covina, we go shopping on Reseda Boulevard and Grand Avenue. Life is good. At least in my dreams.

I notice you wimp out and don't engage me on the main issue of this election--Eddie Haskell, or the Beav?

I don't know why Ruth hesitates to call her Dad a Luddite. When we moved from Texas after 11 years in NY City, we had not used a bank drive-thru in all that time. The first time we attempted it here in Texas, a long line of cars formed behind us while he tried to figure out (1) where they kept the canister you put your check and deposit slip in (2) how to open the @&#$! thing (3) how to send it to the teller, and (4) were we supposed to hang around and wait for it to come back, or what? While we were dithering over this, we didn't realize there was an intercom at our position, which was open to all the fuming and cussing going on, until we heard a sweet voice inquire, "May I HEP you, sir?" To which he replied, his voice cracking a little: "I just want my THING!" At that point I heard giggling coming out of intercoms in every lane and saw drivers' heads swivelling in our direction. At that point the canister plopped back in place and we snatched up our receipt and zoomed out of there. We have not attempted to use the drive-thru since then.

I don't know about any store called "Movies for Dogs" but here in Amarillo we have a bar named "No Dogs Allowed."

Things That Bug Me Part 1

There are quite a few things that bug me, but I will only cover one of them right now. I remember the good old days. I remember pulling into a gas station, running over the little hose that went ding-ding, and watching the attendant come running, or most likely waltzing, out of the office. All you had to do was roll down your window (of course, you had to actually turn a crank to roll down your window, not just push a button or flip a lever) and tell the man how much gas you wanted. While the pump was shoving the gas into the tank the attendant would clean your windshield, check the oil, maybe even check the air in the tires. Everything but wipe your nose, and if you asked him he probably would.

Now, things are different. I don't mind having to pump my own gas. I check my oil and wash my windshield like a pro. So what is it that bugs me, you ask? It's the pump. It's the little screen that tells you what to do. Sometimes I fill up at strange gas stations, so I don't mind when it tells me how to use the pump. Some pumps you have to choose which grade before you pick whether you want to pay inside or outside. They get really anal sometimes.

What bugs me about the gas pumps is when you are done and hang up the nozzle, what does it say? Does it say 'Thanks for shopping at Joe's Quick Mart' or even just 'Have a nice day'? No. It reminds you to go inside and pay for your gas. Now, I'm sure there are some retards that haven't figured that out, and some jack-asses that think it's funny to drive off without paying. Maybe there are even some people that are rushing to the hospital because their wife is about to give birth in the back seat and they don't have time for details like paying for the gas, or they just forgot about paying, what with their wife screaming and discharging assorted fluids. But as for me, I know I'm supposed to pay for the gas. I don't need some stupid, inanimate object treating me like a dingbat. Gee, I'm supposed to pay for the gas now? When did they start that rule?

Should I vote for Eddie Haskell or Bobo the Chimpanzee? Hmmmm......

Say Hello To My Little Friend

My favorite pets are the wild ones. The cricket that chirps at me on the porch every night when I watch the dogs do their business. The two toads that made sweet toad love for an entire week in the goldfish pond. Afterwards, Mr. Toad hung around for another week bragging about how good it was. My latest pet is a tiny little spider that has taken residence on my bathroom sink.

He, or she, scurries around between the make-up and medicine bottles, peeking around the faucet base when I'm brushing my teeth. Last night he was sitting right on the toilet paper roll. Unfortunately, I didn't notice him sitting there until I grabbed the end and gave a yank. He went flying to the floor, but luckily didn't seem to get hurt. He just sat there for a while like he was trying to catch his breath. I haven't checked in on him yet this morning. I don't know if he made it back up on the sink, or if he's going to be sneaking around on the floor from now on.

I keep thinking I should catch him and set him free outside. After all, what is there for a spider to eat on my bathroom sink? On the other hand, it's getting cold outside. There's not going to be much to eat outside soon, either. My husband wouldn't worry about any of this. His thought process would go like this: 'See spider. Squish spider.' Then if I'm lucky he would follow that with 'Clean up squished spider pieces' but I'm not sure about that last step.

I Don't Think So

Bush? Four more years? I don't think so. As a matter of fact, at work I occasionally have poor misguided souls call in wanting the number for their local Republican headquarters. You just don't know how hard it is for me not to send them the number for the local psychiatric hospital, or a home for the mentally challenged. It is so tempting. It would be so easy. But then I think of the wonderful medical benefits I have now, and how nice it is to have paid vacation days and all the other perks of having a union job. Go Unions! (By the way, the Communication Workers of America are strong Kerry supporters, so stick that in your pipe and smoke it, Mom.) Then I sigh, roll my eyes, and give them their number. I'm just glad the election is coming up soon and I won't be tortured like this for very long.

THE DAILY CUD'S PRESIDENTIAL ENDORSEMENT

The time has come for me, as the chief political junkie of the Daily Cud, to announce our official presidential endorsement--GEORGE W. BUSH.

I would like to say that this is because I support the way he is handling the War on Terror and, in particular, the war in Iraq.

Or because he has improved our homeland security and made America safer from attack.

Or because he is doing a great job on economic recovery after inheriting the Clinton recession.

Or because the next president is likely to name some new Supreme Court justices, and he would choose ones who would pay attention to the Constitution instead of the latest liberal political fad.

Or because of many other Important Issues.

But the truth is, I am going to vote for George W. Bush because every time I see John Kerry, he reminds me of Eddie Haskell.

You remember Eddie Haskell. He was the sneaky friend on "Leave It to Beaver," who was always getting Wally and the Beav into trouble and then wriggling out of it himself. If they broke a window playing baseball, he could convince the neighbor he was doing his homework when it happened. And he was always buttering up Mrs. Cleaver by telling her stuff like, "Gee, Mrs. Cleaver, your kitchen always looks so clean, it looks like you never do any work in there."

Get the picture?

Here is how tvland.com characterizes Eddie Haskell:

"Eddie Haskell is nothing short of an operator. He's all talk and attitude—in other words, a real creep. Eddie's the kind of guy that everyone sees through, except Eddie. He's as oily in his politeness to adults as he is weaselly in his dealings with his peers. Eddie sticks like glue to popular Wally, although they couldn't be more different. Fortunately for the Cleavers, Wally is wise to Eddie's games.

Sound like anybody you know? Take a close look during the next presidential debate, and betcha you'll see it, too.

Really, now, no matter what they may tell the Gallup Poll, do voters pay ANY attention to those Big Issues? Have they ever? How many people voted for Franklin Roosevelt because they thought Thomas Dewey looked like "the little man on the wedding cake"? How many voted for Eisenhower because he looked like their grandpa and had a big grin? Or voted for Reagan because they liked his old cowboy movies? You can probably come up with more examples of your own.

Forget the issues. Admit it, you're gonna go with some impression just like that.

Hmmm. Now, let's see--what else does tvland.com have to say about another character?

"He's a bit of a goof, but as Wally once said, 'not as goofy as he looks.' He's not the brightest kid on the block, but he's not the dumbest either. Theodore 'Beaver' Cleaver is pretty much your average, slightly hyperactive, but impossibly cute kid. Beaver's friendly, inquisitive nature gets him into a lot of trouble. He's pretty gullible, so he's often mixed up in some pretty kooky jams.
Beaver has a lot of friends—after all, he's not a creep, he's no squealer and he doesn't go mushy over goony girls (except maybe his teacher, Miss Landers). And if his brother's friends see him as a runt, Beaver doesn't mind because Wally almost always comes to his defense. "

Hmm! Who do you suppose THAT could be?

That settles it for me.

FOUR MORE YEARS! YEAGHHH!

"Sgt. Mom" had a great piece Oct. 9 on sgtstryker.com:

The affinity of cats for bloggers, and bloggers for cats is axiomatic; I am myself– in the opinion of William and my daughter– only one more cat away from verging on “crazy neighborhood cat lady” status, with the current herd of four, all of them Cats of the 1st Order, those which are kept indoors, spoilt and adored, allowed to sleep wherever they like, and fed by hand on chicken and salmon… well, maybe not that last. But Cats of the 1st Order are those which accompany you when you move halfway around the world, whose lives are extended with extensive veterinary courses of care, and whose inevitable death is deeply mourned.

Cats of the 2nd Order are those who rate a degree of care, and affection, and for whom you feel a certain amount of responsibility; these cats do not share your life, and are usually just there temporarily, until you pass them on to someone suitable. (Or they may be someone else’s’ cat, who just prefers your yard, and to freeload at your back door, like Bubba From Down the Road). Cats of the 3rd Order are all others; strays and ferals, other people’s cats; who ask for nothing from you and usually prefer it that way. Except sometimes, when the planets and stars align, and the mysterious cat god decrees that one of them shall suddenly walk up to you and declare him/herself to be yours.

We do not pick them, you see; they pick us, and it is unwise to go against this great power of the universe. I did, once. We walked away from a charming small cat who had very clearly selected us as his own Very Special Humans, in the clearest imaginable terms. I have felt guilty about it ever since: the place and the circumstances were all wrong, and we had a houseful of cats anyway, and all the excuses in the world…. But none of them are any good. I should have packed up the small cat, and taken him away with us. By way of expiating my guilt, I have taken in Henry VIII and his sister Morgie, and Little Arthur and Percival have been gracious enough to select me as their Chosen Human, so perhaps the great and mysterious God of the Cats has forgiven me for spurning the affections of the least of his little ones, late in the summer of the last year we lived in Spain.

sgtstryker.com

A TEXAS SACRILEGE

Remember when those two disk jockeys Opie and Anthony got fired in New York City? They were running a contest that had people having sex in public places, and a couple of the contestants got nabbed getting it on in St. Patrick's Cathedral. It was a big scandal for a while, but it finally blew over and now the two deejays are back with a brand new show on satellite radio.

Now, I'm not saying there's any connection, but this past Sunday a young guy and his girlfriend were caught having sex IN THE ALAMO! Right there in the holiest shrine inTexas! Right in front of ladies and innocent children (cheeldurn, as we call them here). A security officer pried them apart, made them cover up, and called the cops. They got arrested and charged with public lewdness and are in big trouble in Big T. We don't cotton to that kinda behavior, especially in the very Cathedral of Texas Independence. St. Patrick's was bad enough, but this is SACRILEGE!

My Favorite Listing

I have had some strange and funny listings, but my favorite of all time has got to be a store named, and I'm not kidding, Movies For Dogs. I wish I remembered where that was because I would call it just to see if it was really a store selling and or renting movies for dogs. I just can't believe there is that much of a demand for movies for dogs.

New Kids On The Block

I guess I should introduce my new Daily Cud correspondents. Just in case there is someone besides the three of us reading this. I will start with myself in case one of the thousands of new readers don't feel like going through the archives to see what kind of crazy person would name a blog the Daily Cud.

I am Ruth, the Executive Cud so to speak. I live in a small town near St. Louis (Mo, Slou at work) with my husband and unofficial foster daughter. My husband isn't a Daily Cud correspondent. He said he doesn't have time to read my blog, much less contribute to it. I asked him last night if he ever felt bad for not reading my blog, since he might be missing something good. He actually said no! Then he explained that he didn't mean he didn't think he was missing anything exciting, but that he really didn't have time to read it so he didn't feel bad about it. I don't know if the young whippersnapper reads this or not. We share the same laptop, and I have this set as the home page. Every time she starts the laptop this pops up, but that doesn't mean she's actually reading anything here.

Then there's my mom, Judy, who is the Senior Cud. She lives in Texas with my father. He isn't much of a computer fan. I don't think you could call him a Luddite, but he hasn't quite made it into the 21st Century yet. I don't think he uses the computer at all. I think even ATM machines make him uncomfortable. He even uses this wooden thing called a pencil. They are both retired and living it up. They have a motorhome so they are constantly going on trips here and there. My dad is one of those Civil War groupies so I think they have been to every battlefield that hasn't been completely paved over, and probably some that have.

And then there's my sister, Mary, the Assistant Cud. We live in the same small town. She lives with her husband and son and daughter. She is a temp worker, but not a lowly drone like I was. She is a technical temp. Her husband just got a new job as a maintenance supervisor or something like that. I'm sure she'll blog all about him and their kids.

So there you have it. Hopefully having 3 times as many bloggers will mean 3 times as many entries. And maybe even some comments from fans.

GOODBYE, SCRAPPLEFACE

One of my favorite websites is Scrappleface.com, which runs satirical news stories, most of them spoofing politics and politicians. Their banner brags, "News Fairly Unbalanced. We Report. You Decipher." Some of their recent offerings include gems like these:

"Debate Sways Uncommitted Kerry to Vote for Self"
"Kerry Called Up in Draft, Misses Debate"
"Rev. Jackson Brings Black Windsurfers Into Kerry Camp"
"Bush Lets Weapons Ban Lapse, Locks Up Criminal Vote"

But now I'm getting confused. Any more, I don't know whether I'm reading the regular news or Scrappleface. For instance, today there was a story called, so help me, "The Mystery of the Bulge in the Jacket." It turns out that at certain camera angles you could see a mysterious bulge in the back of Bush's jacket in the first presidential debate. This is nothing like the famous bulge produced by Al Gore's "package" in that Rolling Stone picture. This is a MYSTERIOUS, maybe even sinister, bulge. A reporter's phone call to the White House brought no satisfactory explanation, so the logical conclusion is that it must be "a radio receiver, getting answers from an offstage counselor into a hidden presidential earpiece." And who might be feeding these answers to that dummy George Bush? Karl Rove, of course.

Hey, what a funny spoof! But wait a minute! As Kinky Friedman would say, "Hold the weddin'!" What am I reading? This isn't Scrappleface, this is the NEW YORK TIMES! Mentioning in passing, of course, that the story is a "rumor," but still going breathlessly on and on about it, how the White House can't explain, blahblahblah.

Turns out the original source of the story is a nutjob named David Lindorff, who pops up all over the internet with rants like "Bush, Hitler, and Goebbels." And the NY Times, the Late Great Gray Lady, the Newspaper of Record, is running with this?

Goodbye, Scrappleface. It's been great reading you, but we don't need you any more. We've got the New York Times for entertainment.

This is me (Mary) with Lewis and Clark in Chester, Illinois.  

Friday is Donut Day!
We have a donut club at work. Every Friday we take turns bringing in donuts. You would be surprised how much everyone looks forward to it, although that may be because our job is so boring that there is not much else to get excited about. In fact, I work at such a dead-end job (because I am a temp in a lab), that everyone is constantly quitting and getting new jobs. Whenever someone quits, we always take them out to lunch and then have a little "party" for them with a cake in the afternoon. Since most people usually quit on a Friday, those days are mega-eating days. For instance, today is this one girl's last day. We had donuts in the morning, lunch at California Pizza Kitchen in the afternoon, and are getting ready to have cake right now.

Big Tooth

I went to the dentist today to get my teeth cleaned. I hadn't been to the dentist in about 6 or 8 years because I didn't have any dental coverage. My teeth weren't very clean. They were almost fuzzy feeling. The cleaning wasn't very much fun. I kept remembering the part in Armageddon where Hound Dog, one of the oil drillers that was being sent into space, asked the lady that was strapping him into the spaceship if she liked knowing that if anything happened to her NASA job she could always get a job at Helga's House of Pain. I was glad that when the dentist finally came in and spent two minutes looking at my x-rays and poking my teeth he said I only had 2 cavities. I thought I probably had more than that. The main reason I went to the dentist was because I have an enormous cavity that I want to get filled before I need a root canal. I already had one of those and don't want to get another one. No matter how much of a pain in the ass brushing your teeth is, getting a root canal is much worse. Much worse.

PERFECT PUTDOWNS

I found these "perfect putdowns" from StrategyPage, taken for Officer Efficiency Reports but adaptable for anyone you are struggling to describe (from work or elsewhere) :

"Not the sharpest knife in the drawer."
"Got into the gene pool while the lifeguard wasn't watching."
"A room temperature IQ."
"Got a full 6-pack, but lacks the plastic thingy to hold it all together."
"A gross ignoramus---144 times worse than an ordinary ignoramus."
"A photographic memory but with the lens cover glued on."
"Donated his brain to science before he was done using it."
"Fell out of the family tree."
"Gates are down, the lights are flashing, but the train isn't coming."
"Has two brains: one is lost and the other is out looking for it."
"He's so dense, light bends around him."
"If brains were taxed, he'd get a rebate."
"If he were any more stupid, he'd have to be watered twice a week."
"If you give him a penny for his thoughts, you'd get change."
"If you stand close enough to him, you can hear the ocean."
"Some drink from the fountain of knowledge; he only gargled."
"Takes him an hour and a half to watch 60 minutes."
"Was left on the Tilt-A-Whirl a bit too long as a baby."
"Wheel is turning, but the hamster is dead."

The Rain In Spain

I feel just like the snooty professor in that old musical who transforms an ordinary working person into a Proper English Lady, except I transformed my mother from an ordinary retired person into a Proper Blogger. By George, (Or was it By Jove?) I think she's got it. Two posts in one day! Way to go Mom! I thought I would be nice and find out what Elton John has against Madonna. It was a simple Google search. Here's what Reuters has to say about it.

LONDON (Reuters) - Pop veteran Elton John has taken a foul-mouthed swipe at Madonna, saying she cheats her fans by miming on stage.

But the American pop superstar was swift to rubbish his accusation, saying she does not lip-synch or criticise other artists.

While collecting a song-writing award from Q music magazine in London Monday, John suddenly launched into a tirade against Madonna when he discovered she had been nominated for Best Live Act.

"Anyone who lip-synchs in public on stage when you pay 75 pounds to see them should be shot," John said in reference to ticket prices for Madonna's Reinvention tour.

"Madonna, best f***ing life act? F*** off," said the singer renowned as much for his outrageous outbursts as he is for his outlandish outfits.

"Since when has lip-synching be live?" he asked.

He ended his outburst by saying "That's me off her f***ing Christmas card list but do I give a toss? No."

You heard it first on the Daily Cud. Unless you already heard about it somewhere else.

ELECTION STUNNER!
LAURA BUSH: 'WHY I'M VOTING FOR JOHN KERRY'
By Ned Nearson

"I'M VOTING for John Kerry for President because sooner or later, when it becomes politically expedient, he shares my views on everything. He's not hard-headed like my husband.
"And he's not always saying, 'I answer to a Higher Power! It is the Lord's will!' when I fuss at him for forgetting to put the toilet seat down, either."
With those measured and historic words, first lady Laura Bush expressed her stunning intention to jump ship and vote Democratic in the forthcoming presidential election.
"This is unprecedented in presidential politics," says Madame Virginia Rousseau, the famed Bakersfield, California- based psychic and historian who blew the lid off the first lady's alleged decision to "go Kerry" after claiming to have read her mind "on several remarkable occasions."
"When I first tuned in to Mrs. Bush, I kept hearing her say to herself, 'Kerry's the man. Kerry's got what it takes. Kerry really is for a stronger America. He's a war hero, too.' "Finally, she just spit it out: 'I'm voting for John Kerry for President!' "I certainly have no reason to make this up," adds Rousseau. "It's true that I support Kerry. But this isn't something I would lie about."
(from the supermarket tabloid, "Weekly World News," Oct. 4, 2004

MOM GETS BRAVE, STARTS BLOGGING

GEEZER TIME AT THE SUPERMARKET

OK, Ruth, I give up--I'll start blogging on your Daily Cud.

Today your Dad and I went to the supermarket (as we old farts seem to do every day). While the young cashier was ringing up our groceries and the bag boy was bagging, the following exchange took place:

Dad: You know that queer English singer, what's his name?

Mom: What's his name?

Dad: Yeah, that queer English guy, what's his name?

Cashier, scanning: Blipblipblip.

Mom: (After a thoughtful pause) Elton John?

Bag Boy, packing: Smack, clunk, squoosh.

Dad: Yeah, that's it, Elton John! I saw him on TV this morning, and he was cussing out [mumbled; sounded like "McDonalds"]. You couldn't even tell what that guy was saying. It was just, "Bleep--bleep--bleep."

Mom: I'm not surprised, they'll say anything on TV.

Cashier: $49.62, hit "Enter" please.

Mom: [Click] [Pause] Why would Elton John be cussing out McDonald's? I can't imagine him eating there.

Dad: [loud voice] Not McDonald's--MADONNA! He was cussing out MADONNA. That's what I was asking you--why was he cussing out MADONNA?

Cashier and Bag Boy: [Mutual eye-rolling; struggling not to giggle]

Mom: [A horrible epiphany here] Omigod--we're turning into Meemaw and Pawpaw!

[Question: Why WAS Elton John cussing out Madonna? Do you suppose that bag boy would know? Should we ask him next time?]

Lottery

I don't usually post jokes here, but I decided since I put in the Frost poem, anything goes. My mom sent me this joke and I thought it was hillarious.


The Lottery

A woman get home, screeches her car into the driveway, runs into the house, slams the door and shouts at the top of her lungs: "Honey, pack your bags. I won the lottery!"

The husband says, "Oh my God! What should I pack, beach stuff or mountain stuff?"

"Doesn't matter," she says. "Just get the hell out."

Helpless

My husband smokes. He smokes a lot. He's smoked for nearly 35 years. He has what I politely call a smoker's cough. It's more like he's hacking up a lung. While he's enjoying his version of Breakfast of Champions (Folgers and Winstons) he coughs so much he sounds like he's about to throw up. I lay in bed listening to him enjoying his first cigarette of the day and wish there was something I could do for him, but I know there isn't. He says he wants to quit, he just can't now because he's under a lot of stress. When things calm down he'll quit. Really, he will. Maybe.

I know better than trying to make him quit before he's ready. If I tried to make him quit he would. Or at least, he wouldn't smoke in front of me, but I know he would be smoking every chance he got when we were apart. So I just wait in bed and pretend I don't hear the choking and coughing. Helpless. Unable to do anything but pull the covers up over my head and think happy thoughts. It's really sad because his step father died of lung cancer just a couple of years ago. I just hope he isn't next.

Frost

I was shocked, shocked I say, when I opened the front door to let the dogs out this morning and saw a blanket of frost covering the grass. I didn't think it was going to get that cold. I guess fall is really here. You can tell when summer is over where I live because the farmers scurry around in their tractors and combines harvesting their corn and soybeans, but sometimes even after all the fields are bare and stubbly it still feels like summer. Right up until it feels like winter. In honor of the frost, I thought I would blog my husband's favorite poem.

Frost on the Pumpkin

When it's all hot and sticky
It's no time for dunkin' dickey,

But when the frost is on the pumpkin
It's time for dickey dunkin'.


Not exactly Shakespear, but hey, at least it rhymes.

It Had To Happen

I knew sooner or later it was going to happen. I was at the drive thru getting a cheeseburger today. When the employee told me the total, instead of saying 'Ok', or just driving up to the window, I said 'Thanks for calling' like I was at work. I doubt if she even noticed what I said, because she probably quit paying attention to me as soon as she told me the total, but I still felt silly for saying it. I remember I used to have a roommate that was a hostess for a restaurant. One night someone called while she was asleep, and when she stumbled to the phone and picked it up she said 'Thank you for calling Shoney's'. Just another side effect of working for The Man.