Palindrome Fibbing Friday

Pensitivity101 was anpicitating anticipating my answers to these ten surnames which could also be professions, or of course……………. something else. Over to me – and under to her.

1. Baker

A manager at any of the now-ubiquitous, newly-legalized marijuana dispensaries.  I thought that they were supposed to be physically separated – one per neighbourhood.  In a rougher section of town, I recently saw two, directly across the street from each other.  Nearby was a 50-year-old blonde, in an 18-year-old’s mini-skirt, down on her knees (and her luck), counting pebbles at the edge of an unpaved parking lot.  Not only was she baked, she was FRIED!!

2.   Carpenter

A carpenter is also a Kevin – the husband and entitled-partner of a Karen – forever bitching and complaining and griping about everything – and nothing.  Always deaf to anything they do not want to hear, they cannot be convinced that they are no more important than 2-day-old bread, on a half-price special at the Golden Crust Shoppe Bakery.

3.   Gardener

He’s a private who is being disciplined by being made to stand outside at a gate for hours, shout “Halt!  Who goes there?” and control access into an Army base.  A General’s driver was told that he and the officer were not allowed onto the base without written authorization from the commanding officer.  The General waved his hand, and ordered the driver to proceed.  The young lad stuck his rifle barrel in the rear window and said, “I’m confused sir.  Do I shoot you – or the driver?”

4.   Mason

It’s a house that Frenchmen live in – and also French-Canadians who like to believe that they are real French Catholics, when most of them are the descendants of prostitutes and Protestants.

5.   Plummer

A blue-collar worker with one of those power-auger things, who makes as much as the Prime Minister.  To be fair, he does more good for the country than the Prime Minister and any two back-benchers.  Before you call in one of these, you have to decide which body organ you can sell on the black market, to pay for his services – and all because Germ Theory and the local Council have decided that we can’t have midden tips any more.

6.   Potter

A potter is a repeat-repeat-repeat customer at our new cannabis retail outlets.  If you accost one by saying, “Hey, Bud” he’ll reply, “Okay, but remove the seeds.”

7.   Rider

A 9-to-5 public transit commuter.  Their sad lot was mourned in a song by the Canadian band, The Guess Who.

8.   Singer

A technician/inventor whose fame and fortune were guaranteed when he designed and built machines that could do in a fraction of the time, hand-sewing tasks that once took forever.

9.   Taylor/Tailor

A none-too-swift female singer/songwriter who has left so many romantic relationship disasters in her wake, that she should be on FEMA’s list of hurricanes.

10. Weaver

An enthralling teller of tall-tales and beguiling stories.  I would like to think that I was one, but my tales are about as tall as a midget’s ass.

***

I give my Fibbing Friday posts (sometimes silly) names, rather than merely numbers, to tell one from another.  I called this one ‘Palindrome’ because it happened to be my 1771st post.  My Fibbing Friday list now goes back a way, but neither number 1551, nor 1661 happened to be one.  😎

A Medial Examination Of Socio-Economic Disparities

I just got back from a stay at a $500/night hotel, and Boy, is my wallet tired!  I was definitely out of my cultural and financial depth.  Even the serving staff looked down on us.

The wife was told to report to a Toronto hospital at 6:15 AM for her surgery.  It was either start driving from home at 4 AM, or find a nearby hotel/motel.  Since the surgery could possibly reveal cancer, this might be her/our last hurrah.  This was her little adventure, so she wanted to do the booking.  (Shoulda looked over her shoulder)

She called Trivago, to book a three-day stay at a nearer, less-expensive hotel, but they could only provide two nights.  With that “Two-Day” thought in mind, the clerk offered her a $1000+, 5-star booking.  The wife saw- arrive on the 14^th, stay the 15^th, check out the 16^th, “That’s three days, right?”  It wasn’t till I couldn’t get back into the room on the third day, that I found that I had to pony up another $500, toot de sweet, or not be allowed to recover our belongings or rest my weary head.  And then, the snotty little night manager had the nerve to complain that the digits on my credit card didn’t match the digits on the wife’s card when she made the original reservation, and demanded photo ID.

For that rate, I thought that some of the amenities would be included, but I guess they feel that, if you can afford it, you can just keep on paying.  They charged $32/day to park in their underground garage.  The ‘not-in-downtown’ hospital charged $15.50 daily max.  The best bargain was the $2/can for vending machine Pepsi.  The hospital charged their captive audience $2.50/can, and some of the machines did not accept cash – bills or coins.  Tap the app, or go thirsty.

The first night, we ate in the basement restaurant.  Judicious ordering kept the total down to $90, including tip, for two people.  We would spend that at a Kelsey’s or The Pickle Barrel.  I didn’t want the little $13 glass of white wine, or the $19 whiskey cocktail.  We each got a glass of ice water.  I asked if they had soft drinks.  I ordered Pepsi, and the wife got iced tea.  The waiter brought two more stemmed goblets full of ice, and a can of Pepsi, and a can of Nestea.

Later, in the room, the wife commented that, “Those drinks were expensive,  $5.00!”  I replied, “That’s not bad – $2.50 apiece.  That’s what the vending machines at the hospital charge.”  “No, no, they were $5/apiece!”  And we had to crack and pour them ourselves.  😛

If you didn’t want to crawl out of bed, and join the hoi polloi, you could phone in an order for breakfast from the grill, and have it delivered to your room.  Again, I could not justify an $18 omelet, or a $10 bowl of oatmeal.  The literature said that there was a breakfast buffet where we’d eaten supper.  We both assumed that it was complementary.  I got off the elevator to see a sign which read, “Breakfast Buffet – $30.  Hot chocolate and a fruit Danish from the hospital cafeteria cost a lot less than that.

When I (finally) checked out, the room clerk wanted to know how I had enjoyed my stay.  I had to be very circumspect and non-committal.  Educational and enlightening.  I’ve been treated better, and provided with a free, Continental breakfast at places that charge $125/night.  Even with a huge Lottery win, I can’t imagine ever going back.  I stayed there my brother’s “twice” – the first time, and the last time.  I’m just gonna stomp the dust off my shit-kicker boots, and drive on up the street to the Days Inn.

’22 A To Z Challenge – S

Of all my relations, I still like sex the best.  😉

Two vaguely-related prompts, equal one mediocre post.

I again, recently ran into some archaic words. Smite means to strike, to hit, to afflict or attack.  It’s a present-tense verb.  The past-tense form is smote.  They were both in common usage around 1600 AD, when the King James Bible was composed.
The Israelites did smite the Midianites.
Peter drew his sword and smote the chief priest’s slave.

There was a lot of smiting and smoting going on back then.  We’ve come a long way since then – perhaps too far.  Now we’re not even supposed to raise our voice, or say anything that might offend or distress someone.

The first word that I snaked out of the S-word file was their relation/relative, the word

SMITTEN

The other two words are verbs, portraying actions performed.  Smitten is an adjective that describes the situation that results from these actions.  The slave, whose ear Peter lopped off, was smitten by the sword.

The two verbs toddled off into linguistic obscurity in the Archaic Dictionary about 400 years ago.  Smitten avoided this fate with a little soft-shoe shuffle and a quick two-step.  It is used, even today, because it evolved its meaning from the actual, physical, to the more allegorical, and mental, and tends to be accompanied by the word with.
She was smitten with the bad-boy biker dude.
He was smitten with the sleek, fast, Tesla sport model.
The entire family was smitten with COVID 19.

Relatively speaking, the relation I next noticed, was the up-and-coming verb form of

SANDBAG

I prefer the British term ‘cosh,’ which is a blackjack, or bludgeon.  A sport sock, with the toe filled with damp sand, smartly applied  to someone’s head, just above the ear, generally guarantees a half an hour of unconsciousness. (a raging headache, possible fractured skull, concussion, loss of memory, etc.)

The recent business and social usage of ‘sandbag,’ which is becoming as common and as irksome as ‘woke,’ is to thwart or cause to fail or be rejected, especially surreptitiously or without warning – scam, con, or flim-flam.  (There’s an old term, making a comeback because of sandbag)

English is a constantly-changing, fluid language, but sometimes I get the feeling that we’re just being sold down the river.  In a couple of days, I will plainly state some of the problems of getting old, and demonstrate the difference between ‘Bitching’ and ‘Whining.’  Bitching is clearly saying I hurt, Damnit!  Whining is more, Whaaa.  I’m a little sore and I need to lie down.  I teach that in my Grumpy101 Course, at the local Community College.  You guys got it for free.  😉

Wishing For One-Liners

What do you call those things you blow, and make a wish?….
….Oh yeah, breathalyzers.

I take my wife everywhere….
….but she always finds her way back.

I made a killing on Wall Street….
….I shot my broker.

My neighbors are a fastidious couple….
….She’s fast, and he’s hideous.

My Dad was the town drunk….
….Lots of times, that’s okay – but New York City?

My wife was in the beauty shop for two hours yesterday….
….That’s just for the estimate.

Not all men are homeless….
….but some are home less than others.

I complained to my psychiatrist that nobody listens to me….
….He said, “Next.”

When you breathe, you inspire….
….When you don’t breathe, you expire.

I joined an online dating service for arsonists….
….They send me 30 new matches every week.

When you mix quick-drying cement….
….there are many hard and fast rules.

I’m on the rotation diet….
….Every time I turn around I eat.

My date last night wanted to go someplace expensive….
….so I took her to a gas station.

I lost my job as a stencil maker this week…
…I guess I just wasn’t cut out for it.

Last week I got fired for eating chips on the job….
….now none of the other casinos will hire me either.

Monday morning, rolling out of bed is easy….
….Getting up off the floor is another matter.

The first thing I notice when someone approaches me….
….The audacity.

My grandma reached 100 today….
….That’s the last time I get in the car with her when she’s late for bingo.

The wife asked, “Is it just me, or is the cat getting fat?”….
….Apparently, “It’s just you.” was the wrong answer.

The first rule of The Condescending Club is really complex….
….I don’t think you’d understand it, even if I explained it to you.

I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings when I called you stupid….
….I thought you already knew.

I’m getting older, and I need glasses….
….glasses of beer – glasses of wine.

I do whatever the voices….
….in my wife’s head tell me to.

😳

He Is Not A Pleasant Fellow

I am not a very pleasant fellow – as certified by my wife.

The son often reads Quora, an online discussion forum, which has the recurring theme, “Was I The Asshole?”  I did it again – or did I??!  You be the judge.

The wife and I entered a small variety store – think Wal-Mart-Lite.  As many stores do, the entrance aisle was narrow.  Ten feet in, the store had put clothing racks on either side, narrowing traffic even more.  Two corpulent women stood, examining clothing on one rack.  Their shopping cart was crossways to traffic flow, with its nose buried in the far rack.

We, and the couple behind us, could not proceed.  I reached ahead, and moved their cart parallel to the aisle.  We all started forward.  Just as we passed, I heard one woman complain, “He’s not a very pleasant fellow, is he?”  Despite the fact that the wife insists that I need hearing aids, I heard her mutter, “No, he’s not, is he?”

Now, some of my readers might be surprised, but being voted a pleasant fellow by a random idiot bunch of total strangers is not on my list of desired goals.  Then I started thinking about the encounter.  Just what would I have had to do to be considered pleasant??!  What did I do, to deserve such denigration?

I didn’t scream or yell.  I didn’t raise my voice.  I didn’t demand.  I didn’t curse and swear. I didn’t insult either of them.  I didn’t say a word.  I didn’t even require that one of them actually move the offending obstacle.

I could have put a smile in my big, stertorous, public-speaking voice, and sweetly asked, “Could someone please take their inattentive and exasperating head out of their Fucking ass and move this piece-of-shit cart, so that I can get into this God-damned store??!

But no!  This was more like a good day at work.  No-one actually died.  There wasn’t much blood, and the flames were quickly extinguished.  What does a fellow have to do to be declared polite and pleasant, and not get voted off the island?

Now it’s your turn to vote.  Was I the asshole??  Or just a pleasant, if not totally innocent, bystander?

I’ll tabulate the ballots on Friday.  No Fibbing.  😉

Working One-Liners

 

CAUTION: To avoid serious injury….
….Don’t tell me how to do my job

A wise man once told his wife….
….NOTHING, because he was a wise man.

April showers may bring May flowers, but what do Mayflowers bring?….
….Pilgrims.

The fastest land mammal is….
….a toddler who’s been asked what’s in his mouth.

Parenting is a lot getting up….
….once you’ve sat down.

It’s pretty wild that we used to eat cake….
….after someone had blown on it.

I need a leaf-blower….
….but for people.

My personal style is best described as….
….”I didn’t expect to get out of the car.”

When this virus is all over….
….I still want some of you to stay away from me.

I miss being at work….
….complaining about not wanting to be at work.

I just realized….
….My trash goes out more than I do.

Boobytrap, spelled backwards….
….is partyboob.

Don’t spell part backwards….
….It’s a trap.

I still can’t believe that some people’s survival instincts….
….made them grab toilet paper.

Only 6 dwarves are left….
….Sneezy has been quarantined.

One minute you are young and wild…
…The next, you’re into air fryers.

A big nose is no excuse not to wear a mask….
….I mean, I still wear underwear.

I hear that the government is putting chips into people….
….I hope I get tortilla chips.

I’m sorry I’m late….
….I got here as soon as I wanted to.

Wanna see social distancing?….
….Lend somebody some money.

Welcome to today’s episode of….
….Now what??!

Doctor: You need to listen to your body….
….Body: You’re old, and you want queso.

My favorite way to online shop?….
….I just yell out what I want and wait for an ad to pop up.

My yoga pants….
….have never been to yoga.

I used to be a crastinator….
….Then I decided to go Pro.

I WOKE To A Problem

Just a little rant observation about what life is like these days.

I rolled out of bed early, with a smile on my face, and a song in my heart.

8:00 a.m. I made a snowman.

8:10 A feminist passed by and asked me why I didn’t make a snow woman.

8:15 So, I made a snow woman.

8:17 My feminist neighbor complained about the snow woman’s voluptuous chest, saying it objectified snow women everywhere.

8:20 The gay couple living nearby threw a hissy fit and moaned it could have been two snow men instead.

8:22 The transgender ma..wom…person asked why I didn’t just make one snow person with detachable parts.

8:25 The vegans at the end of the lane complained about the carrot nose, as veggies are food and not to decorate snow figures with.

8:28 I am being called a racist because the snow couple is white.

8:31 The Muslim gent across the road demands the snow woman wear a burqa.

8:40 The Police arrive saying someone has been offended.

8:42 The feminist neighbor complained again that the broomstick of the snow woman needs to be removed because it depicted women in a domestic role.

8:43 The council equality officer arrived and threatened me with eviction.

8:45 TV news crew from the ABC shows up. I am asked if I know the difference between snowmen and snow-women? I reply, “Snowballs” and am now called a sexist.

9:00 I’m on the News as a suspected terrorist, racist, homophobe sensibility offender, bent on stirring up trouble during difficult weather.

9:10 I am asked if I have any accomplices. My children are taken by social services.

9:29 Far left protesters offended by everything, are marching down the street demanding for me to be beheaded.

Moral: There is no moral to this story. It’s just the world in which we live today, and it is going to get much worse.

’21 A To Z Challenge – D

 

It was the dark of the moon on the 6^th of June, in a Kenworth, haulin’ logs.
Actually, it wasn’t.  I only put that in because I just watched a YouTube video of C.W.McCall doing that old CB truckers’ song, Convoy.

It was dark and early Monday morning, two weeks ago.  The sun had not begun to complain about having to rise, to start another work-week for those lucky enough to still have jobs.  I had just published a ‘21 A To Z Challenge post for the letter C.

Remember, you need another post for D in two weeks, and you don’t have anything started.  You have a

DEADLINE

Deadline, schmedline….  That’s 14 days away.  I’ll come up with something.
Tuesday passed in a glorious flash of a Netflix movie and a bowl of popcorn, with a couple of books for a chaser.
Wednesday, I published a post with some words about words.
Deadline threw me a withering glance, like a woman scorned.
You do remember I’m here, don’t you??  You never do anything with me anymore!

I just had a look at Rochelle’s 100-word picture prompt.  I can’t do a thing with it.  I’ll have to figure something to post on Friday.  We’ll go dancing tomorrow, okay?

Thursday slipped into Friday, as I readied and published a back-patting, self-congratulatory post about reviewing another blogger’s book. I basked in the glow of admiration from thousands hundreds maybe 10 or 12 viewers, while Deadline paced back and forth, muttering about suing for alienation of affection.

THERE’S ALWAYS THE WEEKEND….  With 11 years of practice at being retired, the only way I even knew it was late-Sunday/early-Monday again, was that neighbors put out garbage.  I put ours out, and then published a comedy post.
Deadline built a voodoo doll, and was reading a book of incantations.

You know that there’s only one week left, right?  Get off your ass, and get on the keyboard.
That was the last pre-fabricated comedy post I had in reserve.  I’ll assemble 4 more from my Blog Notes stash of jokes tomorrow; then I’ll get right at that D post.

Tuesday – I had an inspiration, and started writing a post about polarization in American politics and religion.
Deadline – tick, tick, tick!!

Wednesday – I published a post with more words, about more words, and started another one to replace it.
Deadline – Can Archon come out and play?
I’m sorry.  He’s had one COVID shot, but apparently he’s suffering a bad case of procrastination.  I smacked him with a calendar, but he just sits there, looking even more stunned than usual.  Maybe tomorrow.

BANG, BANG BANG!!
Open up right now!  This is Deadline, and I have a warrant to search for any sign of a theme, or creative writing.
Thursday already??!  Why the Hell didn’t somebody tell me that I need a post ready by Sunday night?  None of the D words in my file seem appetizing.  I guess I’ll have to do another of those, “If you can’t fix it – Feature it” posts.  I could do one about meeting a deadline.

Deadline – Bless you my son.  Say five Robert Heinleins, and have a bottle of sacramental wine while you compose.  You’re still a lazy ass – just not all the time.   😉   😳

The Shortcut To Blame

If you haven’t struck pay-dirt in 50 words, stop boring.  Confounded confusion!!  Many Christian Apologist debaters and essayists seem to think that a barrage of verbiage will eventually yield a nugget of truth.  This guy went wrong in a Hell of a hurry.

I get to hear “Why would God allow so much suffering?” to which the answer is “Why do you?” because we really are supposed to be instruments of God, suffering is our call to action. We are supposed to take care of each other. Failing to do so is not God’s inaction, it is ours.

Damn! I didn’t realize that child cancer was My Fault, because I haven’t rushed out and found a cure. I was busy, helping out down at the food bank. 

Thank you. I considered editing this piece to include your sanctimonious, self righteous bullshit as an example of someone trying to highlight the “I” in “Team.” Your self centered value signalling (sic) pretty much removes the illusion of you being a charitable person.

You did a good thing, then complained that your effort did not cure all the world’s problems. It must make you feel like a failure among Gods.

And then out came all that Christian love and acceptance.  😯  Trust a Bible-thumper to take things the wrong way, whether innocently or cynically, whenever their claims are questioned,.  I’ll admit that I was a little snarky when I posted the comment that showed that there’s no He on his team: that after the writer has done all his tithing, and volunteering at the soup kitchen or homeless shelter, it’s still up to his imaginary God to handle things like tornadoes and hurricanes and floods and earthquakes and landslides and volcanoes….and cancer.

Science and medicine are working as hard as they can to find cures for diseases (like COVID19), that his God hurls at us.  After these researchers work their asses off, sometimes for years to find a cure, guys like this will yell, “Thank God! He has answered our prayers!” God helps them that help themselves. These Apologists help themselves – or, at least their pet Deity – to all the credit, but none of the blame. 😯

Here’s a clear example of my earlier assertion, which many of these Good Christians grudgingly admit, that I/Atheists perform ‘good and moral’ actions, but claim that we do so for ‘the wrong reasons,’ according to them.

Studies seem to indicate that, overall, Christians are happier than Atheists.  I don’t believe that these Apologists are actually happier, just more smugly self-satisfied.  😛

Get A Grip

I have a gripe with English.  It is said that a man with a watch always knows what time it is.  A man with two watches is never sure.  For a word with one meaning, or even several established meanings, I know what is meant.  For words which keep adding, subtracting, and modifying meanings, I am less and less sure what is meant.

The word ‘grip’ originally meant, a grasp, a grab, a hold, by a person’s hand.  Recently, technology has included machines.  Once upon an archaic, the words ‘grip’ and ‘gripe’ meant the same thing.  (Don’t ask me why.  I can’t get a hold on it.)  Now grip can mean a small suitcase with a handle, which can be grasped and carried by one hand.  Gripe can be a nagging complaint by someone who may not have a firm grip on reality.

At one time, ‘grippe’, which is pronounced grip, but which is neither grip nor gripe, was the word to identify influenza, the ordinary, seasonal, gastro-intestinal ‘flu,’ a kinder, gentler, distant relative to COVID.  “Grippe” could cause abdominal cramps, especially among babies and young children.

To alleviate these symptoms, “Grippe Water” was developed and marketed.  My mother dosed me with it several times.  The original formula contained alcohol and sugar in addition to sodium bicarbonate and dill oil – a couple of stomach calmers, some calories to replace what might have been lost to the illness, and a mild sedative to aid with sleeping.  It was once said that the best remedy for a colicky baby, was a good, thick, oak door.

Then the All-Or-Nothing, Save Us From Ourselves, Snowflakes got a grip on it, and removed all the “bad” ingredients, so present-day products do not contain alcohol or sugar, but may contain fennel, ginger, chamomile, cardamom, licorice, cinnamon, clove, dill, lemon balm or peppermint, depending on the formula.

‘Grippe’ was what caused the cramping, but ‘gripe’ is the term for the actual clutching, grasping intestinal pain.  Since the formula was changed, the name has also been changed.  ‘Grippe Water’ is no more, and the new product is ‘Gripe Water.’  That’s only one of the English terms that I have a gripe about.  😯