Involuntary Loner

I lost my brother recently. Thanx for the condolences, but he’s still alive. I just don’t know where the Hell he is.

I am content to be surrounded only by immediate family, and a tiny group of online friends. This is a cautionary tale about seniors growing older, isolated and alienated from society. (Visit your Grandma in the home!)

My grandson is getting married, and we tried to invite my brother to the wedding. His landline number had been disconnected, and his cell phone number had been assigned to someone else.

My daughter contacted his daughter through Facebook, and a sad, protracted tale of woe came to light. He had turned into a grumpy old man with no friends, although it wasn’t clear whether he was grumpy because he had no friends, or had no friends because he was so grumpy – perhaps a bit of both.

His wife left him and divorced him some years ago. He moved 25 miles, to a small village, to be near his older daughter. Within a year, she disappeared, moving out without telling anyone where she went.

The younger daughter admitted that she had been preoccupied with kids going into teenage-hood, and a small, retail business that she runs. His old buddy, “24 beers in a case/24 hours in a day” Norm, hadn’t stopped in to see him in over 5 years. We didn’t improve things, because, despite the wife’s nagging gentle reminders, I hadn’t phoned him in almost 3 years.

He had a lady friend-with-benefits for several years, but he was retired, with time to drive to Florida, and spend some time there in the winter. She had just started a home-cleaning business, with a growing list of clients, who she couldn’t leave hanging, so she also left him.

He had a guy that he’d gone to school and worked with, who would split on gas and motel rooms to attend curling bonspiels in Ottawa, and North Bay. But he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, and brother finally called him a God-damn asshole, and dumped him.

There was a pair of male twins his age who used to give him some time, but neither one was interested in curling, and no longer wanted to car-pool and drive 500 miles to watch a NASCAR race. He never read, and he didn’t own a computer.

There was mention of “some trouble with a neighbor” (or neighbors), and apparently what passed for a village council, couldn’t, or wouldn’t, solve his problem. Suddenly, one day, he put his house on the market, sold it and just moved away.

His younger daughter says that she knows physically where he is, and has a telephone number. When she found out about his decision, she tried to contact him. He felt betrayed and abandoned. He said, “Screw all of you! If you weren’t there for me when I needed you, I’m not going to be there for you. The Government knows where I am. The rest of you can go to Hell. I don’t want to be bothered. Don’t give my contact information to anyone.”

My Mother used to say, about his sulking moods, “He just wants to go out in the garden and eat worms.” I am sorry that he feels betrayed and abandoned, and the situation that he’s in. He and I have led very different lives. For obvious reasons, we were never close, but I’ll still miss him.

Advertisements

I’ve Run Out Of Punny One-Liner Titles

For chemists, alcohol is not a problem….
….It’s a solution.

Despite the high cost of living….
….it remains popular.

I before E, except after C….
….disproved by Science

Please cancel my subscription….
….to your issues

Lif is too short

Couldn’t claustrophobia be cured by just thinking outside the box?

Some people are wise….
….some are otherwise

We’ll, we’ll, we’ll….
….if it isn’t autocorrect

Rick O’Shea….
….Is a bulletproof Irishman

My relationship with whiskey….
….is on the rocks

I hate it when people accuse me of lolly-gagging….
….when I’m clearly dilly-dallying.

After my friend turned vegan….
….it was like I’d never seen herbivore

My wife says I’m the cheapest person she’s ever met….
….I’m not buying it

If a midget smokes weed….
….does he get high, or just medium?

I accidentally handed my wife a glue-stick, instead of a Chap Stick….
….She still isn’t talking to me

Some people are like clouds….
….When they go away, it’s a brighter day

What’s black and never works?….
….Decaffeinated coffee, you racist

Life and beer are very similar….
….Chill for best results

Terrible summer for Humpty-Dumpty….
….but he had a great fall

I’m diagonally parked….
….in a parallel universe

Neither Fish Nor Fowl

Canada became metric in 1973….  Or did it??!

So, there was Canada, wedged between England and the United States.  We measured things with the Imperial System – all except where the British 160 ounce gallons, the 40 ounce quarts, and the 20 ounce pints became the wimpy, American Lite 128 oz. gallons, 32 oz. quarts, and 16 oz. pints – and except where you bought a pint of beer, and it was only 12 ounces.

In “Metric” Canada, you can’t buy a pound of butter; you get a 454 gram block.  The wife’s Not-Legally-Pint and Quart glass canning jars are 473ML, and 946ML.  A 12 American ounce can of Pepsi is 355ML in Canada.  At least Canada is not alone in this No-Man’s-Land.  I recently found that the serving ‘Standard’ for beer in Australia is 256ML – or, an 8-ounce cup.  The only time an Aussie bar ever serves just 8 ounces, is to some opal-miner’s 10-year-old daughter.

The weather forecast on the radio doesn’t say that we’ll get an inexact 2 to 3 centimeters of snow, it says that we’ll receive 2 ½ centimeters, because the old guy at Environment Canada still says that it’ll snow an inch.

I thought that all this back and forth might confuse immigrants who are thoroughly embedded in the Metric System, but the Polish women at the EuroFoods store seem to be just as capable of dishing out 300 grams of sliced salami, as they are ¾ of a pound.

We’ve only been at this Metric thing for 45 years now, and with typical Canadian lack of determination, we still haven’t fully committed to it.  This is about the softest conversion that I’ve ever seen.  I wonder if there’s some type of Metric Viagra that could firm things up a bit.  😆

As usual, I hope to see you here again in a couple of days.  Now, let’s see.  In Metric, that’s….  😳  Oh well, come back whenever you like.

Flash Fiction #144

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

WATCH YOUR TONGUE

It was a fantastic idea, inspired, as many fantastic ideas were, by the liberal application of beer. He had decided to make chili as the snack for his turn to host the guys’ Friday poker bash.

He liked his food with a little heat to it….and surely his buddies would too. He put in lots of chili powder, and several shakes of Tabasco.  Maybe he’d add some of this stuff his mother’d given him.

Hmm, Scotch Bonnet Pepper?? Bonnets??  Thanks Mom.  Probably some delicate old schoolmarm spice.  He’d add a good tablespoonful.

Dig in guys. It’s got a little kick.

***

Go to Rochelle’s Addicted to Purple site and use her Wednesday photo as a prompt to write a complete 100 word story.

***

I’ve finally come full circle and am now plagiarizing from myself. This is a re-imagining of my #46, Four Alarm Flash Fiction story of April 16, 2015.  Sorry guys.  I couldn’t help myself.  When I saw all those spewing fire hoses outside the frat house, it was either that, or a “cold shower” story.

I’ll Drink To That

Two old Irishmen were sitting at the local pub
drinking a few beers. So Paddy says to George,
“George me buddy, ol’ pal. When I die could you
pour a couple of beers o’er me grave?”

George says, “Why certainly, but could I strain
it through me kidneys first?”

***

A cop is staking out a bar for drunk drivers. At
closing time, he sees a guy stumble out of the
car, trip on the curb, and fumble for his keys
for five minutes.

When he finally gets in, it takes him another
five minutes to get the key in the ignition.
Meanwhile, everybody else leaves the bar and
drives off.

When he finally pulls away, the cop is waiting
for him, pulls him over, and gives him a
Breathalyser test.

The test shows he has a blood alcohol level of 0.0.
The cop says, ‘How is this possible?’

The guy says, ‘Tonight I’m the designated decoy.’

***

A Brit, an Irishman, and a Scot go out to a pub
and order 3 pints. They each find a fly floating
on the top of their mugs.

The Brit pushes the glass aside, and demands another.

The Irishman says, “Get out of there!” and flicks
the fly away with a finger.

The Scot picks up the fly with his fingers, gives it
a wee bit of a squeeze and says,
“Alright, spit it out now, ya little bastard!”

***

Drive carefully: 90% of people in this world are
caused by accidents.

 

Condiments’ Comments

Two tomatoes cross the street. One of the tomatoes gets hit by a car. The other tomato goes “Aw, come on… Catch up!”

A man walks into a bar with a slab of asphalt under his arm and says: “A beer please, and one for the road.”

“TOWEL HEADS”
Recently I received a warning about the use of this politically  incorrect term, so please try to pay attention.  We have been informed that the Islamic terrorists who hate our guts do not like to be called “Towel Heads,” since the item they wear on their heads is actually a small, folded sheet.
Therefore, from this point forward, please refer to them as:
“Little Sheet Heads.”
Thank you for your support and compliance on this delicate matter.

=====*=====

A little silver-haired lady calls her neighbor and says, “Please come over here and help me. I have a killer jigsaw puzzle, and I can’t figure out how to get started.”
Her neighbor asks, “What is it supposed to be when it’s finished?”
The little silver-haired lady says, “According to the picture on the box, it’s a rooster.”
Her neighbor decides to go over and help with the puzzle. She lets him in and shows him where she has the puzzle spread all over the table.
He studies the pieces for a moment, then looks at the box, then turns to her and says, “First of all, no matter what we do, we’re not going to be able to assemble these pieces into anything resembling a rooster.”
He takes her hand and says, “Secondly, I want you to relax. Let’s have a nice cup of tea, and then,” he says with a deep sigh……
(scroll down)
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*

“Let’s put all the Corn Flakes back in the box. “

MEN AND WOMEN
WHO DOES WHAT

A man and his wife were having an argument about who
Should brew the coffee each morning. The wife said,
‘You should do it because you get up first,
And then we don’t have to wait as long to get our coffee.
The husband said, ‘You are in charge of cooking around here and
You should do it, because that is your job,
and I can just wait for my coffee.’
Wife replies, ‘No, you should do it, and
Besides, it is in the Bible that the man should do the coffee.’
Husband replies, ‘I can’t believe that, show me..’
So she fetched the Bible, and opened the New Testament
And showed him at the top of several pages,
That it indeed says ‘HEBREWS’

 

Hop To It!

A grasshopper walks into a bar, pulls up a stool,
and orders a beer.

The bartender pours him a tall, frothy mug and
says “You know… we have a drink named after you…”

To which the grasshopper replies, “You have a
drink named Bob?”

***

One day, after a man had his annual
physical, the doctor came out and said,
“You had a great checkup. Is there
anything that you’d like to talk about
or ask me?”

“Well,” he said, “I was thinking about
getting a vasectomy.”

“That’s a pretty big decision. Have you
talked it over with your family?”

“Yeah, and they’re in favor 15 to 2.”

***
Q.  The maker doesn’t want it; the buyer doesn’t
use it; and the user doesn’t see it. What is it?

A.  A coffin.

***

A father asked his young son if he knew about the
birds and the bees. “I don’t want to know!” the
boy exploded, bursting into tears. Confused, his
father asked the youngster what was wrong.

Oh Pop,” the boy sobbed, “for me there was no Santa
Claus at age six, no Easter bunny at age seven, no
tooth fairy at age eight and no stork at ten. And
if you’re telling me now that grownups don’t
really fuck, I’ve got nothing left to believe in!”

***

Mommy, Mommy! What’s an orgasm?
I don’t know dear, ask your father.

***

After several years of marriage, Debbie’s husband,
Mike, died suddenly. According to his wishes, Debbie had his body
cremated and placed the remains in a small urn. Several weeks later,
Debbie came home wearing a full-length mink coat and an eight-carat
diamond ring. She went into the living room, removed the urn from
the mantel and carefully tapped Mike’s ashes into a small dish on the coffee table.

“Mike, my beloved Mike,” she began, “I wish to talk to you. Mike, do you remember, for several years you promised me a mink coat? Well, here it is, Mike. Do you like it?” “And, Mike,” she continued, “Do you remember, for several years you promised me a diamond ring?  Yes?  You remember?  Here it is, Mike.  Do you like it?” “Well,” Debbie exclaimed, puffing Mike’s ashes into the air, “There’s that blow job I was promising you.”