Déjà Vu Fibbing Friday

Pensitivity101’s recycled Fibbing Friday

  1. What is the most intelligent life form on Earth?

Those are the viewers who come to read my Fibbing Friday output – and they are handsome, good-looking, and quite sexually attractive.  They are intelligent, and not gullible, or easily taken in with false praise.  They often wear rubber boots, and step high as they pass through.  After the last of them have left, I sweep this up, spread it on the garden, and grow gigantic zucchini.

  1. Why did we really go to school?

So that our Moms could have a little ‘Adult Time” with their friends, Merlot and Prince Valium.

  1. What did teachers do during recess?

Until Marijuana dispensaries became legal, party favors in the teachers’ lounge were provided by a guy named Stoner.  On a rotating basis, therapy sessions were provided by a circuit-rider psychiatrist, but there’s not much they can do in 15 minutes.

  1. How did you get to school?

After my Mother firmly insisted that I do so, I carefully placed one foot in front of the other, and repeated, until my nose bumped into the fount of education.

  1. What was life like before the Internet?

It was peaceful and quiet, yet, apparently people were unknowingly unhappy.  We didn’t have Influencers, to tell us what food, clothing and performance artists to ‘Like,’ as well as Woke Snowflakes, with boundless supplies of Presentism, to show us how we should be appalled at what our ancestors did in good faith.

  1. What is the best thing about social media?

The ability to opt out.  Some beautiful, two-digit IQ said something vapid and inane, and got 273,000 likes??!  Not from me!  Sorry, not sorry – I don’t give a F… damn.  Someone I don’t know ate a meal – or at least took and published photos, before going back to the anorexia clinic??!  I’ve got a real life – with perogies, and a good book.

  1. What is your favorite thing to put chocolate sauce on?

I’m not sure yet.  Research is still ongoing.  It’s quicker and easier to compile a short list of where it shouldn’t go.  So far, it shouldn’t go on Caesar salad, or nachos.   😉

  1. Doctors were all wrong…humans don’t need water. What do they need?

Many need a slap upside the head.  Find it almost impossible to drink eight glasses of water a day??  But eight beers go down quick and easy.  More??!  You want more??!

  1. Dolphins are not mammals. What are they?

They are NFL football players for the Miami team.  Even close visual inspection does not reveal whether they are demons, or space aliens – perhaps both.  One of their cousins – Herschel Walker – was a Cowboy, a Giant, a Viking, and an Eagle, before he became the worst type of animal, a hypocritical, Bible-thumping politician.

Even though he espouses “Family Values,” he has fathered four children with four unwed mothers.  Despite ranting about banning abortion, he paid $700 to prevent the birth of a fifth little bastard.

  1. There is a Lost Dutchman’s Mine, but where is it?

Remember the story of the little Dutch boy who stuck his finger in a hole in a dyke dike, to prevent a flood??!  Turns out, he was a lookout and distraction, and the hole was a concealed keyhole that opened a carefully camouflaged door.  The mine does not yield gold or silver, just scads of hydroponically grown tulips, tons of Gouda and Edam cheese that fell off the back of a truck, and wooden shoes, with a few Dutch Uncles as supervisors.

How I Became A Sociopath

I wasn’t born a loner – but I was born with a brain condition which almost guaranteed that outcome.

When I was almost three, my Mother gave birth to my brother, a sickly blue-baby which required a lot of care and attention.  I was not abandoned, but I had a lot of alone time, in a neighborhood with no other children my age.  The pattern was set.

A bit of amateur observation and analysis by others, later, in my adult life, indicates that I am probably on the autism scale, a high-functioning Asperger’s.  I could have been charitably described as ‘delightfully naïve.’  I do not read social cues.  I was intelligent, not a hick, or a rube.  I was open, friendly, inclusive – and I got shit on!

The nearest boy my age was two blocks away, just beyond a parkland with a lake in the middle. He regularly played with a boy a year older, who lived next door.  I occasionally hung out with them, but slowly realized that they only tolerated me to use or abuse me.

At our end of the little lake, the cedar trees grew closely, up the embankment, pierced by a few game/people trails.  The far end could not be reached without going out to the street, and around, because of a minor geological formation, and a field of stinging nettle that I regretted finding – until I discovered a way past.

At the far end, there were open areas of tall grass and weeds.  The cedars were in individual, teepee-sized copses.  I stuck my head into one of them, to discover that the outer foliage blocked the sunlight, and the interiors were hollow.  FORTS! Just what every 10/11-year-old boy needed.  I could hardly wait to show my companions.

When I excitedly led them to see my discovery, in the first copse we entered, there was a ‘machine gun’ – a wooden toy that some father had built, with a crank and a clacker on one side.  Suitable for a 6 or 7-year-old, the 12-year-old culprit snatched it up and shouted, “Mine!”

A week later, when I repeated my mistake, we found a homemade hunting knife.  Instead of leaving it for the rightful owner, he yelled, “Dibs,” and grabbed it, too.  Now I felt that I could no longer explore my new play area, lest a resident denizen accuse me of stealing these items.

At the edge of the downtown retail area, there was a dilapidated storage building.  I learned how to slip past the loose rear doors.  Among other things, it contained three non-functioning pinball machines.  Often coming or going, I would slip in and stand at them for five or ten minutes, popping the balls up, and propelling them up, to watch them carom around randomly, and disappear.

When I inadvertently revealed that I knew how to get in, they insisted that I show them.  Standing around, watching steel balls doing nothing, didn’t entertain them.  The older culprit pried the end railing off all three machines, slid the glass covers down, and had me remove all the balls.  Three machines – three of us – we each got five 1-inch ball-bearings.  I accompanied culprit #1 back to his house, on the way to mine.  As I walked across his lawn, I heard him call to me.

His old house had old-style, heavy wooden storm-windows that fit over the regular ones in cold weather, to add insulation value.  For rooms like the kitchen, which might become overheated, you could open the inner window, and the storm-window had a flap at the bottom, covering four round holes that could provide ventilation.

He wanted to know if the balls would fit through the holes.  They did – perfectly.  “You push the balls in, and I’ll push them back out to you.”  So I did.  I soon realized that I was poking in five – and getting back four – poking in the four – and getting back three, etc. until I had none.  Standing there, like the gullible fool I was, I said, “Push mine back out to me.”  “Nope, they’re mine now.” and he closed the flap and the inner window, so I went home with nothing but regrets.

A couple of months later, he wanted to trade comic books.   He kept his pile in a cardboard box just bigger than his comics.  As I was digging down in the box, I realized that all the ball-bearings were along the bottom.  I surreptitiously snaked them out and dropped them in my pocket.  As I was walking away, he shouted through the window, “You stole all my balls.  Give them back.”  I said, “Nope, they’re mine now.”  Even with ten balls in my possession, I couldn’t go back to the amusement site and put them back; for fear that I would be discovered and accused of damaging the machines.

I went to school with him so, one day we were walking together in a residential area that was not ours.   Twenty yards ahead on the sidewalk was a piece of paper.  It looked like an envelope.  I assumed that we would just walk up to it and see what it was.  Suddenly, he dashed forward, scooped it up and started pawing into the envelope.

When I got there, I found that it was a utility bill for a month’s electricity and water – plus enough cash to pay for it.  The owner’s name was clear on the invoice.  I felt that we should just walk over to the widow’s apartment and return it, getting a smile, a thank you, a pat on the head, and possibly a cookie.  Instead of doing that, or instead of offering to split it with me, or at least give me a small portion, he just stuffed it in his pocket.

Perhaps I read too much evil into too small a sample size, but it didn’t get any better when I had to attend high school in the next town.  Mostly I was ignored, sometimes pointedly so, but there was a short bully who loved to sneak up behind me, grab my arm and twist it behind me in a chicken-wing.  It was only because my arms were so short, that he couldn’t get enough leverage to cause me pain or discomfort.  I would ignore him, and he would get bored, turn me loose and walk away.

One day, two of the well-off guys in my class were illicitly sharing a BIG box of peanut brittle.  When class ended, I politely asked if I might have a small piece.  At next class-break, they found me and gave me a piece – which they later crowed they had both peed on.  Even today, I am amazed that people will expend so much time and energy, for no obvious gain.

I refuse to be mean.  I will not be nasty or judgmental.  I will not be an asshole.  I will not be a prankster, a troublemaker, or a criminal.  I know that there are lots of nice folks.  I’ve met many of them, but people like these seem to make up the large majority of the population.  I eventually realized that I didn’t need or want companionship badly enough to seek it from the likes of these.

To those of you who have been kind to me – and others – online, or in person, Thank You!  You are bright and shining stars in a sea of darkness.  I’m glad I could be a loner, with you.   😀  😀

’21 A To Z Challenge – R

I childproofed the house, but the kids still get in.

My GREAT-grandson is the world’s GREATest  great-grandson, in my own humble opinion.  The wife and daughter both assure me that he is well within the normal bell-curve of infant development.  It may be that, because of COVID visitation restrictions, I get to see him so seldom, and normal incremental changes seem to me to be great leaps of progress.

Intelligence, curiosity, and force of character just seem to exude from him.  We six living ancestors plan to stimulate his mind.  Intelligence is greatly affected by the number of mental occurrences.  His mother is already reading to him, and he responds to the attention.

We will have to soon childproof the house, both for his safety, and the wellbeing of our few more-expensive/delicate belongings – but I actually look forward to the rapidly-approaching time when he will be

RAMBUNCTIOUS

AND

ROWDY

Investigating, experimenting, learning about his world – growing smarter, stronger, and wiser.  For the third of his THREE R’s, his name is

ROWAN

One that he shares with the strong, tall, Rowan, or Mountain Ash tree, revered and respected by my Celtic Scottish forebears.  The name Rowan means “little red one.”  This is not evident yet.  Where the son was born with a reservation with a barber, this is one area where he does not excel.  He is just now growing some peach fuzz on his head.  In a family where about every third child is born a redhead, there seems no indication that he will be one.

It was all I could do to stay intellectually ahead of my son, and grandson.  I am hoping that this wee lad challenges me enough to keep a few mental cylinders firing.  Already there’s been a big increase in sentimental.

***

Some damned fool just informed me that I used the word rambunctious a year ago, in my post for R, and forgot to remove it from the ‘available’ file.  Pay no attention to that man behind the blog-screen.
Get down, you mangy mutt!  Quit pissin’ on my leg.   😯  😳

Flash Fiction #240

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

IMPRISONED INTELLIGENCE

In 1960s America, civil rights was still just a dream for many.  What should have been an inalienable right – Voting – sometimes had conditions.  Negroes had to Prove they were educated, Prove that they were intelligent enough to vote.

A Negro in Alabama approached a polling station.  A redneck Cracker handed him a copy of the Hebrew Times to read.  When he couldn’t, he was given a sheet of waxed paper and a ballpoint pen, and told to write his name.

When he failed that several times, he said, “I just don’t understand it.  I could read and write this morning.”   😯

***

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

I Can’t Argue With That

Argument

HOW TO WIN FRIENDS AND INFLUENCE PEOPLE

Not by arguing with them, and telling them that they are wrong!

Win friends

This is what one of the amateur Christian Apologists recently discovered.  (I’d like to say that they are all amateurs, but several of these men – they’re all testosterone-driven men – make outrageous amounts of money with their own televangelism programs and paid lecture/debate tours.)

He found that, like Red State/Blue State, modern American society has become quite polarized, two solitudes, shouting past each other.  Despite all the heat and light and words in the air, Atheists weren’t listening to/believing what Christian Apologists had to say, and vice versa.

He had taken a Theater Arts course in University (How remunerative), and he wanted to make it useful in Christian/Atheist debates.  His idea was to present the Christian position like a one-act stage play, to lead the Atheists through a mental image of what he considered truth to be.

Why not??!  That’s probably how he arrived at his faith.  Each denomination – each individual church – puts on a musical-comedy play for the faithful, with strange, outdated, but impressive costumes, upbeat, inspirational music, painted scenes, set decoration, props, special lighting, mystical chants, even some audience participation.  It hooked him.  Why wouldn’t it hook a non-believer?

He gave detailed instruction to others, how to win debates with the dreaded Atheists.  They were to put in great amounts of research – not in the tenets of Christianity or the Bible – but in the arguments and objections of the evil, heathen Atheists, the better to rebut their opinions and claims.

In my Whichness Of The Why post, I had uncharitable things to say about philosophers, debates, and structured arguments.  It is possible to twist words and presentations, and win the debate….yet still be wrong.  😳

Like many other Apologists – and sadly, many Atheist arguers as well – he is too caught up in massaging his ego by looking intelligent and winning the BIG ARGUMENT, to see the small solution.  They both often can’t see the forest for the hedge maze in front of them.

Mr. Apologist, want to validate your position??  It’s easy!  It boils down to two words – PROVE GOD!  Don’t prove that God is possible.  Don’t prove that He is the most likely answer.  Don’t prove that the Universe needed a cause, and God is it – because you can’t.  Don’t prove that you believe He exists, or that you want/need for Him to exist, or that a couple of billion others (kinda) agree with you.  Don’t wave your hands and point at rainbows and trees and claim that those prove that He exists.  They don’t!

I just rewatched (third time) a 7 minute call to The Atheist Experience.  It didn’t make sense the first two times, and it didn’t make any sense the third.  The young lout began by demanding that the two ladies state if they believed a couple of rather vague definitions.

He didn’t show God.  His aim didn’t even seem to be to disprove the Atheists’ position.  Assigning the women specific viewpoints became important, as he used esoteric words, complex verbiage, and confusing philosophy, simply to refute these views, and show how much smarter he was than two amateur Atheists, and win the argument .

Don’t win the argument!  Prevent the argument.  Presenting it like some high-school play just doesn’t convince the unconvinced.  Unless and until you can actually show proof of God, you and 47 other angels are just dancing on the point of that theosophical pin.  All you are getting are sore feet, and proving that an Atheist’s opinion is as valid as yours.

Rest your feet, and use your cursor to dance back over here in a couple of days, to see what I have to say after I’ve cooled off a bit.  CU  😀

’18 A To Z Challenge – U

uvula

I luv my Uvula.  It’s that dangly body part that women, as well as men, have.  I thought that it was about as useful as a ‘Best of Keeping Up With the Kardshians DVD, non-functional, merely a plaything for Ear, Nose and Throat doctors, good only for silly cartoons.

Then I desperately needed a word starting with U for the Challenge, and didn’t want to use one that was merely “un” something – unusual, uninspired, unmoving – and had to actually do some research.

Uvula Function:  The main function of uvula is to prevent food going through the breathing passage while you swallow. The uvula function also involves articulation of your voice to form sounds of speech. The uvula functions along with the back of the throat, palate, and air coming up from the lungs to produce a gruffy and other sounds.

Did you know that newborn babies have no need for a uvula??  When we are first born, our throats actually have two separate tubes – one to the lungs, and one to the stomach.  This is why babies can constantly nurse, yet continue breathing.  Only later does throat tissue shrivel to produce one, somewhat dangerous passage.

I’ve got to add that to the (rather large) list of things to mention to the next “Intelligent Design” idiot that I debate.  One of the most famous of them, over the course of a couple of years, gave a number of speeches and produced a few videos, using the banana to “Prove” the existence of God.

‘See how they just fit the curve of the hand, and are just the right size for our mouths, and they’re so nutritious and good for us – GOD must have designed them with us in mind.’

He recently ceased this silliness when an Atheist icon pointed out that the modern banana has only been in existence for several hundred years, and came into its current form through genetic manipulation by human beings.  😳

WOW #24

Old Man

Nemo enim est tam senex qui se annum non putet posse vivere.
No one is so old as to think that he cannot live one more year.

Gerontocracy

Definitions for gerontocracy

  1. a state or government in which old people rule.
  2. Government by a council of elders.
  3. a governing body consisting of old people.

The English noun gerontocracy is composed of two relatively common Greek elements: geront- (“old age”) and the combining form -cracy (from the Greek combining form -kratia “rule, government”). Geront- is the stem of the noun gérōn “old, old man, elder.”

That’s what I need, a government of old people….wait, that’s what we already have. With age, is supposed to come wisdom.  What we really need is a government of people who are old and smart and capable, not old and stupid, or old and greedy, or old and incompetent, or old and egotistical. (Did somebody just whisper “Donald Trump”?) People who have learned from their mistakes, not learned to make more.

With my age and intelligence, I should be able to finagle myself a position as Minister of Medical Association. Thirty years ago, a doctor told me to take my Little Black Book, with the names and numbers of all the hot chicks….and throw it away.  Get another one he said, you’ll need it.

He was right! My new little black book now has the greatest collection of names of people that I pay to touch me, but they all have M.D. after their name, or chiropractor, or massage therapist, or optician.  The optician one is real important.  Without her, I couldn’t read the telephone numbers of any of the rest.

A comedian once said that, the people who really know how to run the country are all cutting hair or driving cabs.  I think that they’re all busy playing Bingo, or getting the Early Bird Special at Shoney’s.

Get Off My Lawn

😳

11/11 Remember!

With the exception of a little explanation here at the top, and some added notes at the bottom, this will be a republication of last year’s November 11th post. I may not have said it the best that it can be said, but I’ve said it as well as I can say it.

remembrance

No matter what you call it, this is a little reminder that tomorrow is Remembrance/Veterans Day. Take two minutes at 11:00 AM to stand quietly and remember, respect and honor those in the Armed Services, past and present, who have given so much, so that we can have peace and security.

Take some time tomorrow – Hell, take all day if you want, and take a bit of time any other day, whenever it’s possible – to shake the hand of a veteran, or current Serviceman. Smile, and say, “Thanks!”

Canadian Flag

veterans

Times, and social situations change. Wars are no longer only fought by going to the other guy’s country and shooting him, or just blowing up his shit till he stops being an asshole.  In addition to the Vets and current Armed Services personnel, mentioned above, we should also remember to thank and think of (because of the job they do, and the way they must do it, they’re invisible, but invaluable) Intelligence and Internal Security Officers, as well as the folks building SkyNet, who feed info to them, so that they can keep us safe from gas attacks, poison and biological assaults.  They also prevent attacks and loss of service to our increasingly technologically-dependent Internet lifestyle, with their Ninja-like handling of all those little 1s and 0s.

poppy-flower-red-remembrence-day-artificial

Workin’ Like A Dog

sdc10369

A local business was looking for office
help. They put a sign in the window,
stating the following: “Help Wanted.
Must be able to type, must be good with
a computer and must be bilingual. We
are an Equal Opportunity Employer.”

A short time afterwards, a dog trotted
up to the window, saw the sign and went
inside. He looked at the receptionist
and wagged his tail, then walked over
to the sign, looked at it and whined.

Getting the idea, the receptionist got
the office manager. The office manager
looked at the dog and was surprised, to
say the least. However, the dog looked
determined, so he led him into the
office. Inside, the dog jumped up on
the chair and stared at the manager.
The manager said “I can’t hire you.
The sign says you have to be able to
type.” The dog jumped down, went to
the typewriter and proceeded to type
out a perfect letter. He took out
the page and trotted over to the
manager and gave it to him, then jumped
back on the chair. The manager was
stunned, but then told the dog “The sign
says you have to be good with a
computer.”

The dog jumped down again and went to
the computer. The dog proceeded to
enter and execute a perfect program,
that worked flawlessly the first time.
By this time the manager was totally
dumb-founded!

He looked at the dog and said “I realize
that you are a very intelligent dog and
have some interesting abilities.
However, I still can’t give you the
job.” The dog jumped down and went to a
copy of the sign and put his paw on the
sentences that told about being an Equal
Opportunity Employer. The manager said
“Yes, but the sign also says that you
have to be bilingual”.

The dog looked at the manager calmly and
said “Meow”.

***

And now for a ‘real’ funny bilingual joke.

Years ago, Charles DeGaulle of France visited Canada. He is still remembered for his ill-mannered and inflammatory shout from a Quebec City hotel window, of, “Vive le Quebec libre.” (Long live Free Quebec.)

Before he arrived, applications were accepted for a post as his driver, to chauffeur him wherever he went.   Aside from the usual requirements, strength, intelligence, firearms and martial arts abilities, driving and map skills, the successful applicant had to be bilingual.

The job was given to Angus MacKinnon, of Nova Scotia, who fluently spoke both English….and Scottish/Canadian Gaelic.

***

Flash Fiction #119

a-door

PHOTO PROMPT © CEayr

LET ME IN

It really was an unpretentious door. He remembered its far side, and thought of P.T.Barnum’s sign, “This way to the great Egress.”  Phineas said that no-one ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American public, trusting the unschooled to exit a portal they couldn’t return through.

This door did not conceal any cheap, threadbare sideshow though. Rather, inside were Peace, Joy and Escape, everything a man could ask for, only, not the Reality which men are forced to return to.

He smiled as he continued driving to his appointment at the rehab center. He and Reality had a date.

***

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

***

Click on the title to hear the doo-wop group, The Sensations sing about Let Me In, in 1962.