The Art Of Divorce

An attorney representing a wealthy art collector calls his client and says to him, “I have some good news, and I have some bad news.” The art collector replies, “I’d better hear the good news first.” The attorney say, “Well, I met with your wife today, and she informed me that she invested $5,000 in two pictures that she thinks will bring a minimum of $15-20 million. I think she could be right.”

The client says enthusiastically, “That’s fantastic!  I can’t believe my wife made such a great investment. You’ve just made my day. Now I know I can handle the bad news. What is it?” The attorney replies, “The pictures are of you with your secretary.”

***

“The COVID-19 situation has been especially stressful for the Flat Earth Society.
They fear that the social distancing measures could push people over the edge.”

***

The wife and I recently went on a Sunday road trip, and stopped at a lovely roadside restaurant for lunch.  We finished our meal and resumed our trip.  The wife unknowingly left her glasses on the table, and didn’t miss them until we were 40 minutes down the road.

By then, to add to the aggravation, we had to drive quite a distance before I could find a place to turn around, in order to return to the restaurant to retrieve her glasses.  All the way back, I was my classic Grumpy Old Dude.

I fussed and complained, and scolded her.  The more I chided her, the more agitated I became.  I just wouldn’t let it go for a single second.  To her relief, we finally arrived back at the restaurant.

She got out of the car, leaving the door open.  As she hurried across the driveway to retrieve her glasses, I leaned over and yelled at her, “While you’re in there, you might as well get my hat, and the credit card.”

***

We were attending church services.  About halfway through, I leaned over to the wife and whispered, “I just let a silent fart.  What do you think I should do?”  She replied, “Put new batteries in your hearing aids.”

***

A father is in church with three of his young children, including his five year old daughter.

As was customary, he sat in the very front row so that the children could properly witness the service.

During this particular service, the minister was performing the baptism of a tiny infant. The little five year old girl was taken by this, observing that he was saying something and pouring water over the infant’s head.

With a quizzical look on her face, the little girl turned to her father and asked: “Daddy, why is he brainwashing that baby??”

***

A woman walks up to a little old man rocking in a chair on his porch.
“I couldn’t help noticing how happy you look,” she says. “What’s your secret for a long, happy life?”
“I smoke three packs a day, drink a case of whiskey a week, eat fatty foods and never, ever exercise.”
“Wow, that’s amazing,” says the woman. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-six.”

***

A man and his pet giraffe walk into a bar and start drinking. As the night goes on, they get drunk, and the giraffe finally passes out. The man decides to go home.

As he’s leaving, the man is approached by the barkeeper who says, “Hey, you’re not gonna leave that lyin’ here, are ya?”

“Hmph,” says the man. “That’s not a lion — it’s a giraffe.”

***

Mother’s Standards

Congratulating a friend after her son and daughter got married within a month of each other, a woman asked, “What kind of boy did your daughter marry?”

“Oh, he’s wonderful,” gushed the mother. “He lets her sleep late, wants her to get her nails done regularly, and insists on taking her out to dinner every night.”

“That’s sounds lovely,” said the woman. “What about your son?”

“I’m not so happy about that,” the mother sighed. “His wife sleeps late, spends all her time getting her nails done, and makes them eat take-out meals!”

I Have Never Felt So Alive

Special note to self: Never joke in a doctor’s office! 😳

Even the ones who have had a sense of humor artificially implanted, by law are required to take everything and anything that is said, more seriously than a TSA agent.

If I don’t post for a while, it may be because I’ve been involuntarily admitted to a psychiatric ward. Case in point….

I recently went to a doctor’s appointment. I tried to be pleasant, humorous, happy. It went down in flames, and crashed and burned around me. It descended into total chaos faster than an Inspector Clouseau movie.

I recently saw her for my yearly checkup. She ordered some tests to justify the $50/month that the Province pays her, even if I don’t go to see her. She allowed 3 weeks for the tests to be done, and the results returned to her, and scheduled a follow-up visit to discuss them.

The appointment was for 2:15PM. The wife and I go with each other to these things. What one doesn’t hear, or remember, the other one does. THAT’S GONNA CHANGE! We were escorted to the examination room at 2:45, and the doctor finally walked in at 3:00. Only ¾ of an hour late – she’s actually ahead of her usual schedule.

She sat down and said, “What is wrong? What do you need from me? What has brought you here today?”

A strange opening statement, but I took no notice of it at the time. I said, “You ordered clinic tests, and should have the results. You booked this appointment to discuss them, so tell me, am I alive?”
[DANGER WILL ROBINSON, DANGER!]

Of course you are alive! Why would you not be alive?

I said, “Well, I took the tests, but you’re holding the results hostage. I just thought it would be a good idea to know how healthy I am.”

So, now it’s cover-your-ass time. I am not holding the results hostage. I do not have the time to notify each patient individually. If there had been a problem, I would have contacted you.

“That’s what I thought, but I’d like to know the numbers.”

She opened the computer screen to my file, and started going through the results. Blood pressure – good. Blood sugar – good. I have evidence of edema, internal swelling – probably from the progression of arthritis. Good cholesterol levels – acceptable. Bad cholesterol levels – up slightly from last year, but still just below the benchmark. Would I like to start taking a daily dose of Crestor to combat it?

Oh, dear Lord, another pill? I said, “No, I think that I’ll just wait till next year’s checkup. If the numbers are up then, I’ll consider the Crestor, if I’m still here.”

Why would you not be here next year? Are you depressed?? Are you considering suicide? Do you have anger management problems?

Gaaaah, what giant can of worms have I opened here?

No, I’m not depressed! I am not considering suicide.

Then why would you not be here next year?

“Perhaps I might move to Newfoundland, or be struck and killed by The Ion (our new street railroad), like that idiot did a couple of weeks ago.”

She glanced over at the wife, who threw her one of those patented Wife Looks©. The wife is on anti-depressants, and believes that everyone else in the known galaxy should also be on them.

Tell me. I am here to listen and help. You can tell me anything.

Well, he just explodes and gets mad over nothing. He screams and yells, and curses and swears.

“If I open the refrigerator to get out milk, and my hand brushes the little plastic container of blueberries, and spills them all over the floor, I might raise my voice a bit, and say “Jesus Christ” or “God damn.” I am startled – embarrassed that I am clumsy and not paying enough attention. I am shocked, and I am irked that I have to stop doing whatever I’m doing, and lower my arthritic ass down to the floor, to pick them all up before they get stepped on.”

Well, I sent the puppies out to help you clean them up.

I then have to explain to the doctor that we have two Scottish Terriers who love blueberries, to the point that we just purchased 3 bags of treats, one of which is blueberry-flavored, and disappearing fast. I hope the doctor notices that the wife was so “upset”, that she added pets to the problem. Has my problem gone away?….

“When she was a child, my wife had an abusive older brother. If something like this occurred, he might slap or punch her. She is still worried that this might happen.”

Have I convinced the doctor? I look back at the computer screen, and she has a small sub-program window open. Now I have to answer 8 multiple-choice questions.

In the last 14 days, how many days were you mildly depressed, depressed, or greatly depressed?

“None! I was not depressed.”

How many days did you have bouts of uncontrollable rage, one? Several? All of them?

“None! Partly because of her brother, she has a powerful sense of propriety. Things need to be the way she feels that they need to be. I barely experience anger. If anything, I suffer from low-level frustration, irritation, and resignation, not depression, and I certainly do not suffer from rage. ”

How many days did you think about harming someone else, or yourself, one? Several? All of them?

“None!”

On how many days did you contemplate suicide?

“I have never contemplated suicide!”

Although, if this farce continues, I might consider homicide, or uxoricide. Have you noticed that none of these questions have a zero value? They’re like the old accusation, “Have you stopped beating your wife yet?” They all begin with the assumption of guilt.

At last, they are all answered. The doctor turns off the bright light, and puts away the rubber hose. Finally, she is convinced of my innocence, and all this silliness is over – right??

Every Thursday, as part of my practice, I have a Therapist available here in my office. Her services are covered by my billing. There is no charge to you. The Provincial government pays her. You have to speak to my receptionist to make an appointment. You can have individual therapy, or couples therapy.

Did I mention GAAAHH!!? I’m surprised that neither she nor the wife made an appointment for me, but I managed to escape cleanly. No good deed goes unpunished. I did manage to get a letter which excuses me from jury duty, because I am have a pain in the ass. 😳

What’d You Say?

I went to the doctor’s the other day, and told her I have hearing problems.
She said, “Can you describe the symptoms?”
I said, “Homer’s a big fat guy, and Marge has tall blue hair.”

I just saw a burglar kicking his own door in.
I asked, “What are you doing?”
He said, “Working from home.

Mother’s Day commercials – diamonds on sale for $3000
Father’s Day commercials – Target men’s shorts on sale for $11.00

It’s been a strange sort of day. First I found a hatful of money, then I was chased by some weirdo with a guitar.

I was late for work today, because I got drunk last night, and set my calculator for $5.30.

OMG, I’m rich! Silver in the hair, gold in the teeth, crystals in the kidneys, sugar in the blood, lead in the butt, iron in the arteries, and an inexhaustible supply of natural gas.

I can’t remember how to write 1, 1000, 51, 6, and 500 in Roman numerals.
I’M LIVID

A man went into the library, and asked for a book on Probability.
The librarian replied, “Possibly it’s on that shelf over there.”

I went on a job interview the other day.
The interviewer said, “It says on your resume that you are a man of mystery.”
I replied, “That’s correct.”
He asked, “Would you care to elaborate?”
I said, “No.”

Of course I should clean my windows. But privacy is important too.

Somebody once said to me, “Archon, You’re too pretentious.” I think that it was Jean Paul Sartre – or it could have been the Dalai Lama, I forget.

My father was an old-fashioned provider. He hunted with a bow and arrow. There was never a problem till he got to the canned goods section of the supermarket.

When my wife starts to sing I always go out and do some garden work so our neighbors can see there’s no domestic violence going on.

An old Irish farmer’s dog is missing, and he’s inconsolable.
His wife says, “You should put an ad in the paper.”
Two weeks later, there’s still no sign of the dog.
“What did you put in the paper?” she asks.
“Here boy!” he replies.

Why isn’t the military accepting karate pros?
Because when they salute they might kill themselves.

I am coughing and my nose is plugged.
Internet diagnosis: I am 26 weeks pregnant!

A glass of Nutella has about 9870 calories. But I don’t care. I never eat the glass anyway.

Web site login: Sorry, your password 257EeffQ@# is not secure enough.
Cash machine login 1234: Here’s your 1000 dollars.

Waiter? I’m sorry, but I cannot eat all this. Would you be so kind and pack it for me? To take away?
But sir, this is a buffet.
Pack it up I said!

My dog used to chase people on a bike a lot. It got so bad, finally I had to take his bike away.

“You know how it is in life. One door closes – that means another door opens…”
“Yeah, very nice, but you either fix that or I’m expecting a serious discount on that car!”

My ex-wife still misses me. But her aim is steadily improving.

I Googled “how to start a wildfire”.
I got 48,000 matches.

 

Adaptation/Evolution

When the cats say that it’s time for a nap – IT’S TIME FOR A NAP!

When puppies or kittens are born, they quickly learn to huddle together in a ball, especially if Momma’s not there. This behavior seems to come from adaptive evolution. It makes the pile look like a single, larger animal to any potential passing predator. The puppy-pile, or kitten-clowder often has the strongest, alpha, animal at its center, and the runt exiled to the edge.

The greatest benefit of these mounds, is the conservation of body heat. This is particularly important for feral animals which are born outside. Every once in a while – not every litter – a puppy or kitten leaves the safety of the group, adventuresome, daring, brave, inquisitive – to explore its world. This is not a safe or good thing to do. Research shows that any young animal that does this has a 75% of dying. They achieve the label of ‘maverick’, whose origins are explained here. https://atkinsbookshelf.wordpress.com/2020/01/15/the-person-behind-the-word-maverick/

THAT WHICH DOES NOT KILL YOU, MAKES YOU STRONGER.

Oh, the vistas to be seen! The world to be explored. The things to be learned. The empires to be seized.

Excess Canadian grey wolves were trapped, and transported to Yellowstone Park, to repopulate the area, after an unusual die-off. Included was a young omega male, a runt which all the other wolves harassed or ignored. Early his first winter there, he disappeared. Park Ranger observers thought that he had starved to death, or been killed.

The next spring, it was discovered that he had crossed over the nearby mountain pass. He had defeated an older alpha male, taken over a pack, and proceeded to mate with the females and produce litters of strong pups to follow him.

Whether you believe that we are merely animals like the rest, or divinely created by a God, human beings would do well to take note of this type of situation. In social, political, or religious situations, great insights are obtained, great things are learned, and great advancements are made, by those who step outside their comfort zone – who leave the warm security of the puppy pile. It’s worth the risk. Be brave! Learn or create something new.

Of course, I want you to continue to do the same old thing, and stop back here again in a couple of days, when my mind wanders off over a mental mountain pass, and breeds a completely different post.

Flash Fiction #224

PHOTO PROMPT © Jeff Arnold

I’LL PUT THE BITE ON YOU

No-one had ever actually died because of eating the “I’m Game”® sausages, from Rudi’s little plant, made with meat that he bought from hunters, and the nearby petting zoo.

He was very careful about the production hygiene, but perhaps less so about what went into his products; reindeer, moose, venison, goats, turkeys, rabbits…. perhaps a touch of horse-meat…. 50/50…. one rabbit, one horse.

Someone really shot a unicorn??! He thought those were mythical. He wondered what it tasted like, probably too sweet. He’d have to check, and spice accordingly. Well, whatever. Into the grinder it goes. Oh, look! Free publicity.

***

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

Flash Fiction #203

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

I’M OVER THE MOON

Roger, where’s my briefcase?

Uhhh, on your desk??!

No, it’s not.

On the kitchen table??

I looked there. I gave it to you to carry in from the car. Where did you put it?

Front hall??

It’s got important papers, a report that needs to be finished or I could get fired.
I look to Heaven and plead, ‘Where is my….’
Why is it on the skylight???

Oh yeah! I wondered if I could throw it over the house. Musta landed there.

Get the ladder, and get it down, safely! Gahh – teenagers! Honey, could we trade him for a gerbil?

***

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

Hit And Run

I was recently accused of hit and run – me, the most careful and courteous driver in North America…. well, in Canada anyway.

On December 27^th – the last Thursday of the month, when senior citizens get a 10% discount – I took the son along to carry, and went to a pet-food store in a nearby strip mall, to get bags of cat and dog kibble.  I entered off the side street, and eased along the driveway toward the store, fourth in the line.

Looking ahead to my left, I spotted a parking space right in front.  Hooray!  Even for the son, those bags weigh 40 pounds each.  Just as I started to turn my steering wheel, a young mother exited the store with two little daughters, one about 5, and the other 2, in hand, and a tiny dog on a leash.  With her head down, and concentrating on them, she dragged them off the sidewalk and into the empty parking space.

I came to a stop.  Still without looking up, she marched them out past the ends of the parked cars, and into the driveway.  It was a good thing that there was no oncoming traffic.  The spot I wanted was to my left, and they were now crossing the driveway to my right, so I started rolling forward.

As I got about a third of the way around, still without looking up, she changed directions by 45 degrees, and started dragging the kids toward me.  I came to a stop again.  When she got within 5 or 6 feet of the side of the car – about level with the passenger-side front wheel well – peripheral vision must have alerted her to danger.  She looked up, saw me in front of her, and took a quick step back.

I waited for her to safely walk around the car.  👿  Suddenly, she exploded into profanity.  “What the fuck!  Where the Hell do you think you’re going?  You assholes don’t need to be in such a fucking hurry!”  I’m at a stop!  And nice language for impressionable young daughters.  Now, in the middle of a parking lot, she let go of the 2-year-old, and used her right hand/fist to pound her way down the body panels and windows, still screaming imprecations.

Well, that was interesting.  There was obviously no chance for calm discussion.  I’m crossways in the driveway, holding up cars that want to get in off the street, and now some that want to get past and out.  I (finally) rolled into the empty spot, and headed for the store.  “That’s it.  Just walk away and ignore me.”  She’s only angry because we’re not treating her as special.  As I pulled the door open, “I’m five and a half months pregnant you know.”  So that’s what set this off.  “I’m gonna call the cops on you guys.”

When we came out she was gone, and I thought the fuss was over.  We drove home.  I did a few chores.  A couple of hours later, the son was having a nap, and I was just thinking of having one too, when the doorbell rang.  Keeping the puppies from leaking out, I opened up.  There stood tall, dark and uniformed.  That entitled, emotional little bitch – she did call the cops.

“I imagine that you know why I’m here.”  I did.  “I’m here to investigate a collision in the parking lot at the plaza.”  I stopped him right there.  “There was no ‘collision.’  The only time my car came into contact with her body was when she stepped forward and assaulted my vehicle.”

They must teach new police officers a particular method of interrogation.  No-one could be that obtuse without training.  I explained my version of what happened.  “If you didn’t bump into her, why was she so upset?”  I am not psychologically qualified to give reasons why the sanest of us do the things we do.  “I don’t know – seasonal stress??  Parking lot rage?”

“She says she took a step backward.  If you didn’t bump into her, why would she do that?”  “She was startled!  She was frightened?  She was embarrassed that she’d put herself and her kids into danger?”  “She drove herself to the hospital.  If you didn’t bump into her, why would she do that?”  Really??!  With two little kids and a dog, she drove herself to emergency?  “She may have honestly thought that I’d bumped her, when she remembered striking my car.  Why would she make that claim?  My best guess is that she’s a drama queen.”  When I mentioned that she attacked my car, he asked, “She actually struck your vehicle?”  Yes officer, several times, quite hard!

The son had heard me talking to him, and came downstairs.  While I’d gone out to the car to get proof of insurance, he gave a corroborating statement.  When I stated that she might be a drama queen, he mentioned how she had screamed about being 5-1/2 months pregnant, and was going to call the cops on us.  He thought the incident might have been triggered by hormones.  There was a momentary hesitation in note-taking, as if she had also failed to mention these things in her statement.

He offered me once last chance to admit my guilt.  He said, “I guess if you thought that you’d actually bumped her, you wouldn’t have just driven off and left her?”  But I didn’t ‘just drive off and leave her,’ I went into the store and spent 5 to 10 minutes conducting business.  At no time did she follow me in, and in the presence of witnesses, claim that I had bumped into her, and what was I going to do about it.  When I came back out, she was gone.  “Uh, okay.”

Finally, he stated that he had to do an investigation into this occurrence, because there had been a formal complaint issued.  Since it had happened on private property, and no-one had been injured, (Then, why was there such a fuss raised??) no charges would be laid.

This is the third false accusation that has been made against me in just over ten years.  The son likes to watch dash-cam videos of accidents, often from Russia, ‘cause those drivers are CRAZY.  Perhaps it’s time to think about having one installed in my car.

’18 A To Z Challenge – V

So, there I was, surrounded by my adoring fans/all the daughter’s pets, when I thought that I should start another A To Z Challenge blog-post when I got home.

When I got there, I couldn’t see my way clear to actually compose anything, because….  Forget about the dog(s) eating my homework.  The two little #*$@ darlings ate my glasses.  Fortunately, I’ve got an old pair that would suffice, at least until the Optical Surgeon gouged one of my eyes out.

I finally decided to do a little research on words that begin with the letter V, and found

Velleity

noun, plural vel·le·i·ties.

1. volition in its weakest form.
2. a mere wish, unaccompanied by an effort to obtain it.

Well, I’ve already lost the chance to claim it, because I’ve researched and downloaded it.  At least the definition doesn’t say anything about procrastination or laziness.  Throw in a couple of cheap and easy graphics, and that’s all I have to say about the letter V.  If you don’t like it, tough luck.

I ordered a big shipment of motivation from Amazon, but it was delayed by the Christmas rush.  It just arrived, so I’ll do much better in a couple of weeks, for the letter W.  See you then.  😀

Canadian Thoughts On An American Trip

I’ve said that I treated the invitation to visit our D.C. hosts as a Royal Summons, but it was us who got treated like Royalty when we got there.  Here’s a shot of us arriving.

More through coincidence than any planning,, we had three successive, different ethnic-food lunches.  One day it was Greek food at a strip-mall restaurant.  The next day, our kind hosts took us to an upscale Afghan establishment.  On the third day, while trying to find decent coffee, (we never did) we stopped into a Thai restaurant beside a Drunkin DoNuts.

Canada is getting screwed for gasoline, even though we pump more oil than the United States.

After calculating for US gallon/Canadian liters, and US dollar value vs. Canadian dollar….
Exiting Southern Ontario, gas was selling for about $1.30/L.  I bought gas 3 times in the US – 83.8cents/L, 76.7/L and 72.7/L – 1/2 to 2/3 the cost in Ontario.

Usually, the closer to the highway, the higher the price.  Pleasantly, surprisingly, this was not the case on the Pennsylvania and Ohio turnpikes.  All the rest centers sold regular for $2.749 (73.8/L).  When I got off in Toledo, the city stations wanted $2.849.

When I crossed the bridge back to Windsor, the in-town stations wanted $1.269/L.  Twenty miles down the superhighway, where they’ve got you by the short and curlies, where it’s ‘pay or walk,’ the price was $1.369/L!  And there’s 4 liters per US gallon, so that’s another 40 cents/gal rip-off.

Something else I found, that pissed me off….  We wanted to keep all purchases on this trip on a credit card, so that we could keep track of them.  When I went to buy gas with the credit card, the screen on the pump said, “Enter 5-digit ZIP code.”  I’m from Canada.  I don’t have a ZIP code.  I tried entering our host’s ZIP.    The screen now said, “Does not match billing address.  Please prepay at office.”

Now I have to walk a pilgrimage to Coventry….and back.  Not too bad in the city, but I felt sorry for the guy waiting behind me at the Ohio rest area.  This is like gassing up at the Costco, only there, the prepayment authorization is for $150.  Some pimple-faced kid asks, “How much do you want?”  Enough to fill it up.  “Well, I have to put something in the machine.”  $50! Put in $50!  It only took $38.50 to fill it, instead of $75Cd.

Like the jaunt to find John Erickson a few years ago, we again circumnavigated Lake Erie.  Only, this time the trip wasn’t so much a circle, as a deeper oval.  The total trip, from door, back to door, amounted to 2243 kilometers, or 1402 American miles.

There are 12 houses in BrainRants’ little cul-de-sac.  Four of them, including him, fly American flags.  Only yesterday, a letter to the editor urged Canadians to show patriotism by flying Canadian flags.  No need – we know who we are.

On our hosts’ kitchen wall hangs a repro of an old station clock, with the hands at 8:45.  I assumed that it was just a rustic piece of art…. until one morning I was having orange juice and my morning pills all alone, and – tick, tick, tick.  So it works, it’s just jammed and not going anywhere.  I was reminded of The Mamas And Papas’ song, 12:30, or The Guess Who’s, No Time.

I estimate that Rants’ subdivision was hacked out of the woods about 40 years ago.  The developers left lots of trees, in some cases, too damned many.  Our stay was almost like camping in the piney woods, although most of the trees were cut-leaf Maple, and Oak.  It allowed me to commune with nature.

There were many birds, some of whom, by their calls, aren’t present in Southern Ontario.  Rants isn’t much of a bird person.  When asked about them, he identified them all as grey-breasted, Northern Virginia Shit-birds, so-called because of their ability to put white polka-dots on parked cars, so aggressive that they eat holes in the paint-job.

I love birds.  In my de-forested area, both the bright Blue-Jays and Cardinals are skittish creatures, hiding high in trees, sometimes heard, but seldom seen.  As I watched Rants at his forge in the garage, a Blue-Jay landed on a branch in the Maple in front of the house, barely above the garage door, and sat in plain view for several minutes, while we were disgusted by discussed Trump.

As I went to get a beer, through the back door of the garage, I saw what I first took to be a dried Oak leaf, fluttering in the breeze.  It turned into a bright-red hummingbird, which eventually brightly flitted into the neighbor’s yard, and molested some flowers.  The daughter gets the occasional green hummingbird at a feeder behind her house, but red ones are uncommon here.

Later, as I went for another beer, I thought I saw the hummingbird again, but it magically transformed into a bright red Cardinal, apparently unafraid of humans.  It lingered for a few moments, then it too casually flitted to the neighbor’s yard.  Wow!, three usually unseen birds in the course of an hour – Mother Nature must really like me.

I took a walk, early one morning, while waiting for the wife to arise.  Ambling through the nearby woods, I met a lady walking her dog.  She told me that his name was Giggs, a Welsh name, after a well-known (to her) Welsh football (soccer) player.  Strangely enough, she had met another woman with a dog, also named Giggs, after the same soccer player.  There’s an Ontario transport company named Gigg Express.  Now I don’t have to research that name.

White Lady In The Hood, if you’re still out there and reading this, I still haven’t met a stranger.

The ancient Bob’s Big Boy restaurant that has been in front of our Taylor, MI, Red Roof motel for years, since April of this year, has been turned into a Wahlburgers.  Marky Mark and his two brothers should stick to acting.  I was not impressed – with the concept – or the service.  On a four-item order, one was missing (which I didn’t pay for, but should have noticed its absence), and one was wrong.

To the rest of you who are out there reading this – Thank You!  Let’s do it again, soon.  😀

Tattoos Get Under Your Skin

I just had some inspiration installed!  Pat, can I buy an idea??

In my Tattoos And Piercings post, I claimed that I’d often thought of getting a tattoo, but didn’t have enough imagination to decide what to get inked on.  When the wife heard me say that, she reminded me that I had two griffons scrimshawed onto the first handmade knife I ever bought, one with eagle’s wings, and one with dragonfly wings.  Why not a griffon tattoo?

EUREKA!

I was egged on aided and abetted by two people whose names shall forever remain H E Ellis and BrainRants.  They’re a couple of the nicest bloggers on the interwebz to ever have a head-on collision with an inkjet printer.  “C’mon sissy, get a tat.  We’ve all been inked.  Even the cat has a tattoo.’

The daughter designed, and had applied, a tattoo which reflects some of her non-Christian spiritual beliefs.  The ink artist who did hers has moved from the city, (a lot of that goes on among the tattoo crowd) but she assures me that she knows of a couple more who are reliable (they don’t smoke crack while they’re applying your ink).

Having had my great epiphany, I quickly went to Bing images for griffon choices.  I really like the blond example at the top.  I feel it best exemplifies my inner persona and spirit, intelligent, pensive, strong, introspective, and peaceful – until someone pisses me off.  There are two possible problems with it.

First, colored tattoos can fade over time, although, at my age, I’ll probably fade before it does.  Second, it is complex, and would require several sessions to complete, making it more expensive.  I’ll have to have the daughter introduce me to her dealer ink artist for an estimate, to see if it would be too expensive.  In that case, I also picked out two simple black outlines – above and below.

Now I’m torn!  Do I just pull up my big-boy YSL bikini briefs, go have it put on, and surprise my future hosts when both the new tat….and I, arrive swollen and weeping?  Or do I wait, and give them the opportunity to influence my final decision?

How about my readers??!  Do you want to indulge in an online opinion poll?

Colored, or black?
Which black one?
Do it now, or let the voices of experience guide me later?

Come on!  This is easier than voting for/against Donald Trump (Kathleen Wynne, in Ontario.)    😯   I’d like to hear from you.