The Whole Fam-Damily

Sara Sidle

The wife has been watching reruns of CSI on YouTube. The son began talking about the character, Sara Sidle. While others came and went, she remained. Son and I soon realized that we knew her entire family.

Jailbird

Her father, ‘Homie’ Sidle, came up from the ghetto and made good, but is in prison because he killed a guy.

Her mother, Sue E. Sidle, was devastated by his crime, and took her own life.

Her older brother, Herbie Sidle, opened his own plant nursery and landscaping company.

Her younger brother, ‘Pesty’ Sidle, the family joker and prankster, finally settled down and got a job with a firm which rents out poisoned traps to warehouses and food companies, to control rats.

Sara’s grandmother, Jenny Sidle, came here from Germany, shortly after WW II, and has learned to keep her political and social opinions to herself.

You can take all these names and occupations, and stick ‘em where the pun don’t shine.   We were a bit rushed because we had to get back to the show after the commercial. Can you think of any more members of the Sidle family that we have missed?? 😕

I’m Keeping An Eye On You

eyes-2

No good deed ever goes unpunished. 😯

A young man was convicted of a crime, and sentenced to prison. Shortly after arriving, he became well-known to the prison infirmary. First, his tonsils got infected, and had to be removed, then he jammed his little finger in a press in the prison work-room, and had to have it amputated. His appendix swelled up and almost burst before they operated on him. Finally, he had to go to the prison dentist to have his wisdom teeth pulled.

The Warden followed him in and stood in front of the chair. “I’m onto you Mister! Don’t think that I don’t know what you’re up to. You’re trying to sneak out of here, one little piece at a time.”

Gravity Well

And so it is with me. I had the retina of my right eye operated on, back around New Years. I was told to come back in about 6 weeks for a follow-up, and if things had gone well, I might have the left eye done also. Things went well. The film on the retina had caused a divot which made words and letters fall in, like the Black Hole gravity well above.

The eye still has blurry spots, but is expected to continue to improve. Re-examination of the left eye shows that it can be ignored for some time. HOWEVER….

I was told to go to my local Ophthalmologist after another 6 weeks for a final check-up. Tests last year showed the merest of beginnings of cataracts in both eyes. When she examined them, she was happy with the surgical results, only….

After the Optical Surgeon poked three needles into the right eye, some of the vitreous humor fluid leaked out, and got on the lens. Apparently, this can stimulate the development of cataracts. Now I am scheduled to go to a local hospital, Thursday, June 13th, to have her peel off cataracts which are developing on the right eye and which made me think that the first operation was not completely successful.

Pirate

First I told my pharmacist that a guy had stuck three needles into my eye. Now I told her that someone is going to use a medical potato peeler to strip off cloudy surface lens material. She is astounded that I can so calmly joke about such a thing. That’s just the way I deal with potentially stressful situations. There’s no sense brooding about it, and driving up my blood pressure. Making fun of it makes it less frightening.

During the first operation, my head was reclined almost upside-down, and all work was done below my field of vision.  For this one, she’ll be coming directly at me.  I wonder how disconcerting that will be.  😯

Like before, I may be incommunicado for a while, but, like Arnie The Terminator – “I’ll be back.” See you then – I hope.   😎

White Cane

’18 A To Z Challenge – K

 

Challenge '18Letter K

 

 

 

 

 

KIDNAPPED
BY Robert Louis Scribbledorffer

They did everything absolutely wrong!  If criminals were smart enough to get a real job, they wouldn’t be criminals, would they?

My wife and I were kidnapped, for the big ransom that my ‘rich’ father would pay.  One of them lived to regret it.  I don’t.  Dad’s money is all tied up in investments.  With the economic downturn, he’s barely making the mortgage payments on his ‘mansion.’  Besides, even though I’m an only child, I’m still not Dad’s favorite son.  They didn’t research that very well.

They got into the house somehow.  The first we knew of it was when one of them flicked the bedroom lights on at 3AM.  We woke to two scruffy oafs in balaclavas, waving guns at us, telling us to get out of bed.  They secured our hands behind us with nylon zip-ties, and prodded us in bare feet and pyjamas, outside into the back of their van.

The ‘leader’ warned us not to yell, or he’d shoot us.  It wasn’t till I really woke up that I realized that a dead hostage gathers no ransom, but they might have shot my wife, and I don’t know whether the neighbors would have roused, that late at night.

They didn’t blindfold us.  I’d seen their van, though not the licence.  I watched through the windows as we drove, at every street and every turn.  I saw their house when we arrived.  I could find this place in my sleep.  That worried me.  Did they intend to kill us?

They herded us into a back bedroom, and made us sit on the bed while they added zip-ties around our ankles.  Then they turned to walk out.  I yelled, “Hey, you can’t just leave us like this.  I have to piss!”  The Boss said, “Tough, hold it.”  Speaking of pissed – if I wasn’t before, I was then.

It is said, that a dog can strain against a leather leash, until it rots – or snap it with the first lunge.  I had no room for lunges, but I could certainly strain hard.  As soon as they left, I looked around the room.  On the far wall was a mirrored aluminum dressing table with squared-edged legs.  I rolled/crawled over to it, and put my back against it, and started rubbing the nylon wrist tie against the corner.

By the time baddy #2 came back in, the next morning, the wife and I were both a sodden mess.  He tipped half a bottle of water into each of us, and turned to leave.  Without much hope of it, I asked, “What about some food?”  He replied, “You better hope your Father brings some pizza, when he drops off our money.”

He came back with some more water later that afternoon, and again the next morning.  We, and the bedroom, got wetter and smellier, how demeaning.  Between the visits, it was a constant rub, scrape, rub, scrape.  Finally, on the second afternoon, just before I thought he might come in for our water break, the zip-tie parted.

I found a nail-clipper, and managed to get the tie at my ankles off.  That was about the best thing in the bedroom for a weapon, unless I wanted to hit him with a pillow.  I quickly rubbed full circulation back into my hands and feet, and moved to check the door – unlocked – well, of course, this is just someone’s house.

I risked a cautious look.  The bedroom opened into the kitchen, and there was no-one in sight.  I quickly eased out.  All kitchen knives must be in drawers, and I couldn’t risk making a noise, rummaging around, so I grabbed a heavy frying pan off the stove.

I peeked around the corner, into the living room.  The apprentice dummy was standing, looking out the little window beside the door.  I quietly padded across the rug behind him, quickly, before he smelled me.  Just as I raised the fry pan to knock him unconscious, he opened the door.

There, just outside, was ‘The Brains’ of the pair, coming back with a bag of groceries.  In desperation, I quickly swung.  Later, the police pathologist said that, instead of catching him with the flat of the pan behind the ear, I caught him in the first cervical vertebra, with the edge.  It crushed the bone and severed his spinal cord.  He died instantly, and dropped like a rock.

Still not too firm on my recently-shackled feet, he took me down with him.  Boss-man gaped, then dropped the food, leapt forward, and began clawing at his kidney area, I assumed, to draw his gun.  As I fell, I did the only thing I could.  On the way down, I backhanded him in the knee with the frying pan….  And another bad guy dropped like a rock – this one screaming until his face smacked into the floor, and he lost his gun.

They were armed.  I acted in self-defence.  Two minor, known-to-police hoodlums with guns, out of circulation, a dozen minor crimes solved, no-one said a word about the fact that one of them was dead.  Instead, I got a Civic Medal of Bravery, a television interview, and a book deal.

I was told that the ringleader will walk – not out of jail – but out of the prison hospital ward, once he gets a new knee and kneecap to replace the one I smashed.  Dad claimed that he tried to get the $2 million, but, you know….the markets – the banks.  Gee, thanx Dad.

We got showers and clean clothes at the police station where we made our statements and ate Whoppers and fries, a little book royalty to augment income, a new respect from neighbors and coworkers, and best of all, NO PTSD.  Guns and all, it was hard to take ‘Boris and Natasha’ seriously.  What an adventure!  Let’s not do it again.   😯

 

Marriage Isn’t Just A Word: It’s A Sentence

Jailbird

The wife found her husband sitting on the back
porch crying. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Do you remember when we were dating and your
father, the judge, told me that if I didn’t marry you, he
would send me to prison for 20 years?” he said.

“Yes” she responded, “so what?”

“I would have got out of prison today!” he sobbed.

***

An attorney was sitting in his office late one
night, when Satan appeared before him. The Devil
told the lawyer, ‘I have a proposition for you.
You can win every case you try, for the rest of
your life. Your clients will adore you, your
colleagues will stand in awe of you, and you will
make embarrassing sums of money. All I want in
exchange is your soul, your wife’s soul, your
children’s souls, the souls of your parents,
grandparents, and parents in law, and the souls
of all your friends and law partners.’

The lawyer thought about this for a moment, then
asked, ‘So, what’s the catch?’

***

Make it idiot-proof and someone will make a better idiot.

***

If it looks easy, it’s hard.
If it looks hard, it’s impossible.
If it looks impossible,
it’s due tomorrow. At 8 AM.

***

I want to die in my sleep like my grandfather…
Not screaming and yelling like the passengers in
his car.

***

What did the blonde say when she looked inside
the box of Cheerios?

‘Oh look, donut seeds’

***

I didn’t work my way to the top of the food chain
to eat vegetables.

***

A young couple met with their pastor to set a date for their wedding. When the pastor asked whether they preferred a contemporary or a traditional service, they opted for the contemporary.

On the big day, a major storm forced the groom to take an alternate route to the church. The streets were flooded, so he rolled up his pant legs to keep his trousers dry. When he finally reached the church, his best man rushed him into the sanctuary and up to the altar, just as the ceremony was starting.

“Pull down your pants,” the pastor whispered.

“Uh, Reverend, I’ve changed my mind,” the groom responded. “I think I would prefer the traditional service.”

*********************

😆

A To Z Challenge – O

april-challenge

Holy moly, we’ve reached the letter

letter-o

To succeed at this elongated A to Z Challenge, I have an obligation to write about some things whose names begin with O.

Let’s start with my blog-stats. That doesn’t begin with O.  Intellectually, I know that they don’t really reflect reality, or are important in themselves. Others have told me so, but still, I have that little bit of irrepressible OCD – that little bit of an obsession to obtain warm proof that I am liked and respected.

Now while it’s true that some of you folks couldn’t care less about whether others like what you write about or not, I like to make room in my rather thick Scottish skull for people who heap abundant praise on me for my writing. I like to believe that people appreciate my wit – but I’m only half right.

When a new reader makes a comment, I’ve been known to gushingly reply, and urge said visitor to return and comment – often.  I don’t know which is worse and more embarrassing, being obsequious – or being obnoxious.

Still, I am optimistic that my writing will improve and become read by more people who say that they love me – and not just in a prison sex kind of way.  I will continue to observe my stat numbers, and keep an open mind.

Well, don’t just sit there. Click ‘like.’  Heap praise.   

Uber

Taxi

A boy and his date were parked on a back
road some distance from town, doing what
boys and girls do on back roads some
distance from town, when the girl stopped
the boy.

I really should have mentioned this
earlier, but I’m actually a hooker and I
charge $50 for sex.”

The boy reluctantly paid her, and they
did their thing.

After the cigarette, the boy just sat in
the driver’s seat looking out the window.

Why aren’t we going anywhere?” asked the
girl.

Well, I should have mentioned this
before, but I’m actually a taxi driver,
and the fare back to town is $75.”

***

What should you do when you see
an endangered animal that is eating
an endangered plant?

***

There was a magic mirror. If you told it the
truth, it would grant you a wish. If you lied to
it, it would vaporize you on the spot. One day a
brunette walked up to the mirror, looked in it
and said, “I think I’m the most beautiful woman
in the world.” Poof! She disappeared.

A little while later a redhead walked up to the
mirror, looked in it and said, “I think I’m the
most beautiful woman in the world.” Poof! She
disappeared.

Later, a blond walked up to the mirror, looked in
it and said, “I think…” Poof!!

***

If at first you don’t succeed, blame your computer.

***

We spend the first twelve months of our children’s
lives teaching them to walk and talk and the next
twelve years telling them to sit down and shut up.

Phyllis Diller

***

Did you know that it costs forty thousand dollars
a year to house each prisoner?

Jeez, for forty thousand bucks apiece I’ll take
a few prisoners into my house! I live in New York,
I already have bars on the  windows.

I don’t think we should give free room and board
to criminals. I think they should have to run
twelve hours a day on a treadmill and generate
electricity. And if they don’t want to run, they
can rest in the electric chair that’s hooked up
to the generator.

Healthy Respect For Medicine

medical_363124952_std

 

Mommy!  Mommy!  A strange lady stuck her finger up my bum, and I had to give the Government money to pay her to do it.  Then she hired some guy to do it again with a hose – and then I have to learn to deep-throat.  I don’t understand.  The charges were dismissed, why do I still have to attend the Going To Prison Seminar?

I went to see my female doctor for my regular physical – ‘cause there’s 703 days in a year, right??  Suddenly my annual checkup became an anal checkup.  It all started innocently enough.  She took my blood pressure – 120/70, which means my heart ain’t thumpin’ hard, and I’ll live long enough to make some people sorry.

“Do you have to get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom?”  I’m almost 70 – of course.  “How many times?”  Usually once, occasionally twice.  “When it gets to three, contact me, and I’ll start you on meds that you’ll have to take every day for the rest of your life.  Is it still rigid when you have to go?”  Uhhh…no.  “Would you like some Cialis?”  That’s like offering a dog a driver’s licence.

I’ve heard about, Turn Your Head And Cough, but around here, it’s, Shuck your shorts and lie on the examining table in a fetal position, facing the wall.  Suddenly….WOW – are you right up to the wrist?  I don’t think I’m going to get out of this fetal position.  She says, “I don’t feel anything unusual.”  Lucky you, I do.

She’ll make arrangements with an internist, but first, I have to take tests to prove I’m healthy enough to survive the torture.  I asked one, innocent question.  Would a little extra adipose, just north of the belt buckle, combined with poor eating posture, prevent the esophagus from emptying into the stomach, causing difficulty swallowing?

The next thing I know, I’ve got $250 worth of stomach pills I don’t need. I’m thankful for a great medical plan, which pays for it.  The unexpected benefit is that they’re combo-pills with an added painkiller just short of Hillbilly Heroin.  I could sell these on the street.  The next time I have a headache (very uncommon) I’ll just crush one up and snort it.

After walking five miles at the Cruise Night, and then setting the daughter up for the Anti-Violence Festival the next day, and hauling her stuff back home, both hips said, “Take the pill!  Take the pill!”

So, off to the clinic I went.  I had to do a 12 hour fast.  I was starting to have food withdrawal symptoms, but I made it.  Some sadistic little oriental nurse-wannabe stuck a railway spike in my arm, and sucked out so much blood, I thought they were doing a remake of Helter-Skelter.  Then she said, “I need a urine sample.  Could you fill this little cup?”  Not from over here.

My cholesterol levels are lower than my doctor’s, although I still need to remove that spare tire.  Like any other bureaucracy, Ontario’s taxpayer-paid medical coverage can sometimes be head-scratching.  The doctor’s visit is paid for.  Four blood tests and the urine tests are paid for, but the test that might indicate that I have prostate cancer???  That one I have to pay $30 for!  😕

The wife’s had to endure colonoscopies three times.  Except for the finger, I’m still a virgin.  At least I’ll have someone to guide me through it – and point and laugh when I go all sucky and whiny.  I think I can handle that, even though I’ll have to drink stuff that makes cod-liver oil taste like Haute Cuisine, and ending up so empty that I won’t be able to face into the wind without developing a whistle.

It’s the endoscopy I’m a little worried about.  I have a sensitive throat.  I could never do gay porn.  The wife takes 12/15 pills every morning, including a couple that would choke a horse – into the mouth, a little juice, one big gulp, and they’re all gone.  Me?  Anything bigger than an aspirin, and I have to distract myself.  Oh, look, a chipmunk!….Is the pill gone?  Well, it will be by lunch.

I think if it weren’t for all these tests, old folks would live forever.  All this embarrassment and stress??  Ah Hell, let’s just die and get it over.