Starvation Wages

Horses

A beggar walked up to a well-dressed woman
shopping on Rodeo Drive and said,
“I haven’t eaten anything in four days.”
She looked at him and said,
“God, I wish I had your willpower.”

***

A blonde bought two horses and could never remember which was which.

A neighbor suggested that she cut off the tail of one horse, which worked great until the other horse got his tail caught in a bush.

The second horse’s tail tore in the same place and looked exactly like the other horse’s tail.

Our blonde friend was stuck again. The neighbor then suggested that she notch the ear of one horse, which worked fine until the other horse caught his ear on a barbed wire fence.

Once again, our blonde friend couldn’t tell the two horses apart.

The neighbor then suggested that she measure the horses for height.

When she did that, the blonde was very pleased to find that the white horse was 2 inches taller than the black one.

***
A man and a woman who have never met before find
themselves in the same sleeping carriage of a
train, after the initial embarrassment they both
go to sleep, the woman on the top bunk, the man on
the lower.
In the middle of the night the woman leans over
and says, “I’m sorry to bother you but I’m awfully
cold and I was wondering if you could possibly
pass me another blanket.”
The man leans out and with a glint in his eye,
says, “I’ve got a better idea … let’s pretend we’re married”
“Why not”, giggles the woman.
“Good”, he replies, “Get your own fucking
blanket!”

***

A couple are rushing into the hospital because the wife is going into labor. As they walk, a doctor says to them that he has invented a machine that splits the pain between the mother and father. They agree to it and are led into a room where they get hooked up to the machine.
The doctor starts it off at 20% split towards the father. The wife says, “Oh, that’s actually better.” The husband says he can’t feel anything.
Then the doctor turns it to 50% and the wife says that it doesn’t hurt nearly as much. The husband says he still can’t feel anything.
The Doctor, now encouraged, turns it up to 100%. The husband still can’t feel anything, and the wife is really happy, because there is now no pain for her.
The baby is born. The couple go home and find the postman groaning in pain on the doorstep.

***

How many Witches does it take to change a light bulb?
It depends on what we are trying to change it into.

***

How many gorillas does it take to screw in a light bulb?
Only one, but it sure takes a lot of light bulbs!

***

I asked my friend why he walked away from his last job.
He said the pay was so poor that he couldn’t afford a car

***

 

The Queen’s English

Queen

The Queen’s English.
Yes, I’ve heard that about her!  😆

If only more of the English people would speak the English language. Some of them think that, if a word is good enough to be said once, it should be slightly changed and said twice.  Sometimes this doubling-up is done to emphasize the meaning, but I am sure that sometimes it is done just to confuse those who don’t speak the local dialect.

It has brought us a bunch of word-pairs like; holus-bolus, okie-dokie, hurdy-gurdy, hunky-dory, hurly-burly, lovey-dovey, argy-bargy, hinky-dinky, rinky-dinky, hanky-panky, razzle-dazzle, willy-nilly, fuzzy-wuzzy, namby-pamby, itsy-bitsy, (t)eensy-weensy, (t)eeny-weeny, higgledy-piggledy, mumbo-jumbo, roly-poly, and tittle-tattle.

Cuckoo Clock

Why ‘Tock-Tick’ does not sound right, to your ear

Have you ever wondered why we say tick-tock, not tock-tick, or ding-dong, not dong-ding; King Kong, not Kong King?  It turns out that it is one of the unwritten rules of English that native speakers know, without even knowing.

The rule, explains a BBC article, is; “If there are three words, then the order has to go I, A, O. If there are two words, then the first is I, and the second is either A or O.”  Mish-mash, chit-chat, dilly-dally, shilly-shally, tip top, hip-hop, flip-flop, Tic Tac, sing-song, ding-dong, King Kong, ping-pong.

There’s another unwritten rule at work in the name Little Red Riding Hood, says the article. Articles in English absolutely have to be in this order: opinion, size, age, color, origin, material, purpose, noun.  So, you can have a lovely, little, old, rectangular, green, French, silver, whittling knife.  If you tamper with that word order in the slightest, you sound like a maniac.

That explains why we say “little green men”, and not “green little men,” but “Big Bad Wolf” sounds like a gross violation of the “opinion (bad)- size (big)- noun (wolf) order. It isn’t though, if you recall the first rule about the I-A-O order.

That rule seems inviolable. “All four of a horse’s feet make exactly the same sound, but we always say clip-clop, never clop-clip.”  This rule even has a technical name, if you care to know about it – the rule of ablaut reduplication – but then life is simpler knowing that we know the rule, without knowing it.

Play it by ear.
If a word sequence sounds wrong, it probably is wrong.

If Wishes Were Horses

manure

If wishes were horses….there’d be a big pile of manure around any significant discussion. We are a strange species, willing – anxious – to deny, or argue what others among us regard as perceived truth.

On my recent, A View Of Islam post, it was all going so well, seemingly, until I got the following response to this paragraph:

‘In the U.K, the Muslim communities refuse to integrate and there are now dozens of “no-go” zones within major cities across the country that the police force dare not intrude upon. Sharia law prevails there, because the Muslim community in those areas refuse to acknowledge British law.’

What a load of ****. There are absolutely NO ‘no-go’ zones of any description in the UK. British law applies and is enforced throughout the UK, without exception.  Donald Trump had to apologise after making a similar, and untrue, statement about the UK city of Birmingham. I appreciate that you are only quoting from someone else in your blog but to give publicity to a totally untrue statement is demeaning to your blog and yourself.

I snidely protested;

Enforced the way it is in the barrios of East L.A. or Little Cuba in Miami? In my quiet, well-behaved city of Kitchener, Ontario, Canada, two blocks from my home, is an enclave of 75 houses, full of people with beige skin and head coverings. In 15 years of living here, I have never seen a police car enter or patrol it.

That earned me this reply;

 In the UK, British law applies to everyone. ‘No-go’ areas that police do not enter just don’t exist. I cannot comment on Canada, I have only been there twice.

He reminds me of a militant atheist, desperately trying to ‘prove that there is no God.’  He knows what he wants, what he feels should be, what he believes, and what he wants others to believe, and just ignores any evidence to the contrary.

I especially liked his ad hominem attack on Canada, and his implied claim that he is well enough off to have travelled here a couple of times, to set us Colonials straight.

He’s right that British law applies everywhere in the country, but if he truly believes that there are no areas where policemen don’t bother to go, his ass is in the air, right beside the ostrich with its head in the sand.

I recently read a post from a young female who attended Catholic Church, but disagreed with almost everything the priest propounded as Church tenets – no gay marriage, hate and fear homosexuals, no divorce, no birth control, and no married priests.

I congratulated her on her independent thinking, and asked her what she was going to do about her contrary beliefs. Other than her blog, was she going to go public, to the priest, to her family, to the congregation? Would she leave the Church?

“Oh, no,” she replied, “I’m going to keep going to Church.” But she’s not! Now she’s just attending a social club – and there’s nothing wrong with that – if she, and others like her, have the integrity to admit it.

If your cat has kittens in the barn, you can call them horses; just don’t try to ride them.  If wishes were horses, beggars might ride.  These buggers are riding the hobby-horse of their own imagination.

A blonde, who has always wanted to ride a horse, decides to try it one day. She carefully mounts, clutches the reins, and they’re off.  Not used to the powerful motion, she has trouble staying in the saddle.  Suddenly one of her feet comes out of the stirrup, and she falls forward onto the horse’s neck.

She holds on desperately, but begins to slide off the side of the horse. Lower and lower she hangs.  Her other foot is now jammed in the stirrup, and she winds up hanging almost upside down.  Finally, her head touches, and the horse’s strong movements begin to bang it against the ground.

She feels pain, and begins to see stars. Just when she fears that she will lose consciousness and die….the manager of the Wal-Mart rushes over and unplugs the horse.  😉

Half A Millennium

Caveman

No! That title doesn’t refer to my age. That whiny rant will be coming up later this month. Stay tuned for your chance to legally stick it to the old Archon.

This is my 500th post. Yay! 😛 Believe me; no-one is more disappointed surprised than me. Stuff just keeps leaking out of my head and falling on the keyboard – and people read it, and like it, and comment about it. BrainRants is right. This is very inexpensive therapy.

I’ve dumped out memories of my childhood, some cooking posts, stories of trips and suggestions for places for my readers to try. I’ve railed about politicians, religion, and just assholes who should get along with the rest of humanity better.

I’ve given a glimpse (well, more like a full-length motion picture) into the slightly off-kilter life of the crazed Archon, and his slightly off-kilter family – a little weird, but basically harmless, often with photographic evidence.

I slowly plod along, from post to post, dropping the occasional clot of keystrokes, and enjoying the warm glow of those who visit and read. I’ve appreciated finding those out there who are just as ‘non-standard’ as I am, possibly more so, and sometimes in surprising ways and directions.

I have a love/hate relationship with the status quo. I like stability, but feel that everyone should have the right to be as individualistic as they want – as long as they don’t frighten the horses or small children. I hope I’ve shown some who are hemmed in by family, employment or religion, that being a bit different is okay, and not evil.

This has been a most enjoyable voyage of discovery, and I hope I’ve given, nearly as well as I’ve received. I’m still not sure about even getting to post number 600, and One Thousand, the full millennium, seems a looonng way away.

Nun

I am a creature of habit, even though I’m not a nun. (Mental image of the Pope having a stroke, and nine Cardinals having simultaneous heart attacks) I’m gonna keep doing this until I can’t, and I thank all of you who have made it fun, and a real learning experience.   😆

500 Posts

Flash Fiction #6

It’s Only Natural

copyright-erin-leary-2He stood at the fence, looking at the little stream, enjoying the beautiful morning.  The sun was well risen, but not yet really visible, as it burned the fog from the valley.

The red-winged blackbirds held chirpy conversations.  A few dragonflies darted here and there, importantly.  The occasional frog made a political statement.

It had been a lovely summer, and the autumn was still warm.  He loved being able to come here and stand in the shade of the trees, enjoying communing with nature.

He’d better get back to the barn.  His young owner would want to saddle him soon.

Go to Rochelle Wisoff’s Addicted To Purple blog, and use the weekly picture as a prompt.  Write a 100 word complete story about it.

 

Horse-Drawn History

I’ve done a few “Remember When” posts about growing up Oh-so-long-ago, and in a small town at the end of the universe.  I’ve written a post about the development of roads, and if I don’t get my numbering mixed up, it will already be published.  What I haven’t put together is the horse and buggy combination.  Anyone want to go for a wagon ride?

I’m still a long way from being a suave, sophisticated, city-dweller, but, as a kid, I was far more urban than rural.  I don’t know if my little town helped make me so, or if I was just of that bent, and lucky to be born where I was.  When I got old enough to visit the next little town down the road, I was quite dismissive.

Our town had all the interesting, up-scale social amenities that they didn’t.  We had a movie theater, a bowling alley, and a pool-room.  They had none of these.  They did have a United Co-op farm supply store, and a Western Tire store, even back here in the east, not even a real Canadian Tire store.

Back when I was knee-high to a grasshopper, it was not unusual to see horses pulling wagons around their town.  Local farmers hauling hay, bringing milk to the dairy, or stopping in to that Co-op store to pick up seed or fertilizer.  My town was not exempt from horse and wagon combos though.

When I was a kid, we still got milk delivered to the house by horse and wagon.  I don’t remember seeing milk taken to the little dairy in my town by horse; it was picked up by truck from farmers who set it by the side of the road in five-gallon pails.  It sat out in the winter cold and summer heat until it got back to the dairy.  Thank God for Pasteurization.

This was all back when every little town had its own little dairy, before the economies of volume caused all the milk in North America to be controlled by a dairy-products company in Italy named Parmalat.

The milk guy delivered right to the door.  If it sat on the porch in the winter, it froze, and expanded.   Milk wasn’t homogenized, so an inch or two of cream would raise the cardboard cap out of the glass bottle.  The frozen cream would have to be cut off and saved, or it would melt and run off.

Later, the delivery schedule changed, and the wagon didn’t arrive till just after lunch.  Sometimes I would ask my Mom for a nickel to get a half-pint of chocolate milk.  The deposit on the glass bottle was another nickel.  We could have paid it once, and just kept exchanging bottles, but it was far more fun to climb into the delivery wagon and ride a couple of blocks while I sipped it finished.  Then I’d walk back home.

Townie boy learned a little about driving horses.  “Gee” meant turn right, “”haw” meant turn left.  I’ll leave “giddy up” and “whoa” to your imagination.  “Gee” was a crossword puzzle solution to the clue, “right to a horse,” last week.

We didn’t have an electric refrigerator for a number of years.  We had an icebox, which sat in a shed, attached to the back of the house.  Every couple of days in the summer we put a twenty-five pound block of ice in a top compartment.  The ice would melt, so there was a hole bored in the floor, where the melt water ran out.

Each winter, a businessman and his assistants would go to a small cove of Lake Huron, and cut blocks of ice out by hand, using large human-powered saws.  When the cove refroze, they would come back for another harvest, and another, until they filled a barn-like warehouse.  The ice was covered by a thick layer of fine sawdust, which reduced thawing during the summer.

The ice was delivered to most homes in town by horse and wagon.  Their blocks were about fifty pounds, and had to be hacked in half with a trowel-like hand-tool with a toothed edge.  I would often run out and grab a large sliver of ice, and suck on it like a no-cost Popsicle.  Occasionally I got to ride along for a couple of blocks, as I did with the milkman.  It takes a village to raise a child.  Since I was almost the only child in my neighborhood, these village men protected, entertained and educated me before I went to school.

The third horse and wagon for many years was the garbage-man’s.  The town’s work-crew was small and, immediately after WW II, trucks, and the money to buy them was scarce.  The garbage-man seemed ancient to a small child, but he was probably in his fifties.  He and his patient horse would make the rounds, and he would dump loose garbage from metal cans into the wagon.

When the wagon was full, he would take it to the south edge of town, about a half-mile from the lakeshore.  He would have the horse back the wagon into an open area, and then pry up the loose boards which formed the bottom of the wagon, and stand them on edge, dumping the garbage.

About the time the old man, and his horse, retired, and town employees using a truck took over, a real estate developer wanted space to build more cottages for the burgeoning tourist trade.  Suddenly all the garbage was compacted with a bulldozer and covered with clean fill, and the site was sold.  I wonder how many of the cottage-owners know what’s under their summer palaces.

Horses and wagons….as Benzeknees’ quiz proved a while ago, I am older than dirt.  At least this tale of long ago and far away didn’t contain any dinosaurs or woolly mammoths.  Be careful as you walk away from the wagon.  Don’t step in that stuff!

 

Father Murphy

The Fundraising Problems Of Father Murphy

Father Murphy was a priest in a very poor parish.  He asked for suggestions about how to raise money for his church.  He was told that racehorses made money for their owners, so he went to a horse auction, but he made a very poor buy.  The horse he bought turned out to be a “Donkey.”

However, he thought he might as well enter the donkey in a race.  The donkey came in third, and the next morning, the headline in the paper read,

“Father Murphy’s Ass Shows”

The Archbishop saw the paper, and was displeased.  The next day, the donkey came in first, and the headline read,

“Father Murphy’s Ass Out In Front.”

The Archbishop was up in arms, and figured something had to be done.  Father Murphy had entered the donkey in a third race, and it came in second.  Now the headline read,

“Father Murphy’s Ass Back In Place.”

The Archbishop thought that this was too much, so he forbade the priest to enter the donkey in any more races, which inspired the editor to write,

“Archbishop Scratches Father Murphy’s Ass.”

When the Archbishop read this, he ordered Father Murphy to get rid of the donkey.  He was unable to sell it, so he gave it to Sister Agatha for a pet.  Now the headlines read,

“Nun Owns Best Ass In Town.”

The Archbishop read this and immediately ordered Sister Agatha to dispose of the animal.  She managed to sell it for $10.00.  The next day, the headline read,

“Sister Agatha Peddles Her Ass For $10.”

They buried the Archbishop three days later.

 

Royal Babysitters

Once upon a time, long, long ago, and far, far away in a distant country, lived a great and powerful ruler, named a Shah.  He lived on a gloriously beautiful palace with his beloved wife, who was the Shahnee, and his only child, a handsome boy, known as the Shan.

The Shah loved his little son very much, and tried to protect him as much as possible.  The Shan was subject to small fits, or seizures, and had been known to fall down and hurt himself.  So the Shah hired two strong, alert, intelligent guards to go with the Shan wherever he went, to protect him from all dangers, and to be there when the Shan had an attack, to keep him from falling and hurting himself.

One day though, a minor catastrophe occurred.  The Shan, now approaching manhood, had become interested in pretty girls, and went to a club, to watch the dancers, and talk to them.  While he was engaged in conversation, the two guards became distracted by a couple of pieces of feminine pulchritude, and were not near when the Shan had an attack, and fell down a short flight of stairs, breaking his arm.

After leaving his son with the doctor, the Shah called the two guards, to question them as to where they had been at the time of the accident, and why they had not prevented the Shan’s fall and injury, as they should have.  He ranted and raved, and yelled at them, and threatened them with dire punishments, and finally screamed at them, “Just where were you, when the fit hit the Shan??!”

 

Smart Feller

The vain person is one who loves the smell of his own farts.

The amiable person is one who loves the smell of other people’s farts.

The proud person thinks his farts are exceptionally fine.

The shy person releases silent farts, and then blushes.

The impudent person boldly farts out loud, and then laughs.

The scientific person is one who farts regularly, but is concerned about pollution.

The unfortunate person tries hard to fart, but shits himself, instead.

The nervous person is one who stops in the middle of a fart.

The honest person admits he has farted, but offers a good medical reason.

The dishonest person is one who farts, and then blames the dog.

The foolish person suppresses a fart for hours and hours.

The thrifty person always has several farts in reserve.

The anti-social person excuses himself, and farts in complete privacy.

The strategic person conceals his farts with loud laughter.

The sadistic person farts in bed, and then pulls the covers over his bedmate.

The intellectual person can determine from the smell of his neighbor’s farts, precisely the latest food consumed.

The athletic person farts at the slightest exertion.

The miserable person would truly love to, but can’t fart at all.

The sensitive person is one who farts, and then starts crying.

 

Which Came First, The Chicken Or The Egg?

A newly hatched chick asked his mother, “Am I people?”  No, you are chicken!  Do chickens come from people?  No, chickens come from eggs.  Do people come from eggs?  No, people are born.  Are eggs born?  No, eggs are laid.  Are people ever laid?  Some are; others are chicken!!    😕