Buffalo Roast

Bison

I’m still in negotiations with Upper Management about final details. If I can get my contract extended, one week from today, on Monday, September 21, 2015, I plan to turn 71, and self-host my own birthday roast.

This will be your chance to prove to Archon how much you love him by laying down some good comic insults, and (hopefully) racy comments.

dinosaur

Archon is descended from a long line his mother once listened to.
I’m surprised that Archon hasn’t turned into coal, like the rest of his childhood friends.
(Infrequent) Sex for Archon must involve ‘petrified wood.’
Archon was born so long ago, that his SIN (Social Insurance Number) is 2. (Actually II, but Canada went metric)
The only guy in Canada older than Archon, is Santa.
Archon used to party till it hurt. Now it hurts him to party.
Fifty Shades of Grey refers to his hair. (And have you seen that beard?)

If my memory is still working, the post will appear about 2:00 AM, the same time of day I was born back in 1944, though on a Thursday that year.

I’ll try to keep my naps to a minimum, so that responses to comments will be more or less in real time. If I do doze off, feel free to talk about me among yourselves.

Remember; mark next Monday on your calendar with a big X. (Or a Q, or….whatever. “My baby, she wrote me a letter.”) Ball up a big one, a sharp one, a cute one, and be ready to let fly next Monday. There will be prizes for the best single and team insults. (Doesn’t matter, both prizes will be leftover lasgna, and you have to come to the house to pick it up.)

I look forward to waking up, without my photo in the obits seeing you here. 😀

Archon SDC10926

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The Night Before Christmas

Angry Santa

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘Twas The Night Before Christmas

‘Twas the night before Xmas and all though the house,
The whole God-damned family was drunk as a souse.
Grandma and Grandpa were singing a song,
And the kid was in bed, pulling his dong.

Ma home from the cat house, and Pa out on bail,
Had just settled down for a nice piece of tail,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutter, and fell on my ass.
The moon blushing down on the new-fallen snow
Gave a nice wholesome lustre to the objects below.

When there to my old blood-shot eyes did appear
A rusty old sleigh, and eight mangy reindeer.
With a ruddy old driver, holding his dick,
I knew in a flash the old bastard was ‘Nick.’

Slower than snails his eight reindeer came,
And he swore and he bitched as he called them by name.
“Now Prancer, now Dancer, up on the walls:
Quick damn it, quick, or I’ll cut off your balls!”

Then up on the roof he scrambled and fell,
He came down the chimney like a bat out of Hell.
He staggered and stumbled as he ran out the door,
Tripped over his bag, and fell flat on the floor.

But I heard him exclaim, as he rode out of sight:
“Piss on you all – What a Hell of a night!”

***

A little girl is in line to see Santa. When it’s
her turn, she climbs up on Santa’s lap. Santa
asks, “What would you like Santa to bring you for
Christmas?”

The little girl replies, ” I want a Barbie and
G.I. Joe.”

Santa looks at the little girl for a moment and
says, “I thought Barbie comes with Ken”.

“No”, said the little girl, “She comes with
GI Joe, she fakes it with Ken.”

 

Just a little serving of Holiday Cheer.  Are you getting into the Spirit?  Or just into the spirits??  I’m sitting here, having a few with my big fat neighbor, Round John Virgin.  He has a pair of pet caribou – a male he calls Bruce The Moose, as well as Bruce’s mate, Olive, the other reindeer.  Be sure to take a big bag of ‘Bah, Humbug’ with you.  You’ll need it when you’re wrapping those last presents.  😯

Silence Is Golden

You can say nothing and be thought a fool, or you can open your mouth, and remove all doubt.  This is an idea I try to keep in mind whenever I submit an Op-Ed letter, publish a post, or comment on someone’s site.  My father, who was a constant font of little homilies, often said, “You just missed a great chance to keep your mouth shut.”

I read the Op-Ed letters in two newspapers every day, just to know what’s going through the public’s heads – besides a strong breeze.  Out of the blue, a couple of years ago, the local paper printed a letter from a man.  I’ll assume he’s a relatively young man, from the content and tone.

He had found out that some people still took baths, rather than showers, and he was just disgusted.  You wouldn’t catch him “soaking in a tub full of dirt soup!”  He musta got plumbing installed in the double-wide, and didn’t have to take a bar of soap down to the creek.

As one who regularly enjoys a hot soapy soak, I felt it my duty to set the dear boy straight, so, off went a rebuttal letter.  Had he ever considered the dispersal ratio – how much (little) oils and actual dirt, spread though how many gallons of water?  Was he aware of di-atomic, hydrophilic/hydrophobic soap molecules, holding dirt and oil away from the body?  Did he know about colloidal suspension/colloidal dispersion?  Had this little couch-potato watched enough TV to have seen ads for Cascade dish detergent, with sheeting action, which guaranteed no re-deposit?

Occasionally, when something like this post reminds me of that letter, I wonder just what set off his little diatribe.  All he had to do to avoid looking like an opinionated fool, was shut up – says the guy with the blog-site.

Christmas has reminded me of another strange newspaper find.  The Toronto Sun used to have a “human interest” columnist.  Like some blogs, it was a thousand words a day, Monday to Friday.  I’m sure it must have been a challenge to come up with something interesting every day, to fill the spot.  One year, on October the 19th, (I remember the date because it was so out-of-season.) in the middle of a column, suddenly he inserted, “And the name of Santa’s reindeer is Donner, not Donder!”

There’s a term in English.  It means that something has been incorrect so long and so often, that now it’s accepted as correct.  I seem to have mislaid it.  If any of you come across it, please toss it back in the Den.  A Library book, printed in 1907, gave “Donder.”  One printed in 1921 showed the slide to “Donner.”

Like a discussion I had with SightsNBytes recently, about diarrhoea vs. diarrhea, there are two acceptable ways of spelling it; the original is just a bit more correct.  An amateur student of psychology, I still wonder what twisted his tail hard enough that he would deny the other option.

Living here in German town, it’s easy to pick up a bit of German usage, and it seems obvious what the correct original was.  In the German language, the thunder and lightning team are “donder und blitzen.”  If Santa’s got a Blitzen, it follows that he’s got a Donder too, not a Donner.  All this columnist had to do was keep quiet.

Back when the entire world was on tenterhooks, waiting for J. K. Rowling to pound out the fifth in the series of Harry Potter books, the local paper printed an odd Op-Ed letter from a young graduate of one of the local universities.  Essentially, he denied that the fifth, or any more, Hogwarts books would ever be written.

When he graduated and was awarded his degree, it was on the basis of his thesis paper, the theme of which he tried to explain in his letter.  He may have done great research, and assembled a good paper, but at least he, and perhaps the examination board, may have snorting copier toner.

His paper proved conclusively that there were only four basic states to any construction.  He listed the four archaic elements, Earth, Air, Fire and Water, and then, ignoring the final 21 New Testament books, he cited the four Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.  He mixed it all together with some New-Age psycho-babble, and absolutely guaranteed that no fifth book would ever be printed.

Of course, we all know what happened.  There were waits, but books numbers 5, 6 and 7 all appeared.  I delayed about six months after the release of number five, when Rowling had made another Billion dollars, and sent in a letter of ridicule.

Ivory-Tower Ivan had ignored several large chunks of reality.  The series was not complete at four books.  Rowling and her publishers had clearly stated that the series would go to seven.  Enough money to purchase a medium-sized country was at stake.

Even if, at the end of book four, a large asteroid crashed into the school, destroying it, and killing all the characters, the stories are about Magic.  Someone would have seen destruction approaching, and waved a wand and shouted Petronum, and everything would have been restored.  Everything except this dolt’s “reasoned conclusions.”  Just shut up and avoid the embarrassment!

As we were having coffee and donuts at the Farmers’ Market recently, we were joined at the food court by the man who sells us honey, and beeswax for the wife to make candles.  Not Amish or Mennonite, he is still a very religious person.  The conversation got around to allergies, as conversations with the wife and daughter often do.  The wife stated that she is allergic to several types of flowers, and has trouble breathing when they are near.

As a farmer, he must be familiar with stinging nettles, poison ivy and sumac, poisonous foxglove, and dumb-cane, Dieffenbachia, which can paralyze the voice box and cause breathing problems in small children and pets.  He and his bees like the flowers.  He relies on them for much of his income.

As soon as the wife mentioned allergies to flowers, he “corrected” her and told her that her problems were caused by the sprays which are causing hive collapse, “Because God wouldn’t make blooms that are bad for us!”  Yeah, well, God called.  He says you’re a narrow-minded idiot who can’t keep his mouth shut.

Laugh, And The World Laughs With You

Snore, and you sleep alone.

A Pilot Joke

A priest dies and is waiting in line at the Pearly Gates.
Ahead of him is a guy dressed in sunglasses and leather jacket. Saint Peter asks him “Who are you, so that I may know whether or not to admit you to the Kingdom of Heaven?”  The guy replies, “I’m Captain Knight, retired Air Canada Pilot from Toronto. “
Saint Peter consults his list. He smiles and says to the pilot, “Take this silken robe and golden staff and enter the Kingdom. “
Next up is the priest. He stands erect and booms out, “I am Father Joe, pastor of Saint Mary’s in Winnipeg for the last 43 years.” Saint Peter consults his list. He says to the priest, “Take this cotton robe and wooden staff and enter the Kingdom. “
“Wait a minute,” says the good father, “that pilot gets a silken robe and golden staff while I get only cotton and wood. How can this be? “
“Up here … We go by results,” says Saint Peter, “when you preached, people slept; when he flew, people prayed.”

***

An Airplane Joke

A Frenchman and an Italian were seated next to a Scotsman on an overseas flight. After a few cocktails, the men began discussing their home lives.

“Last night I made love to my wife four times,” the Frenchman bragged, “and this morning she made me delicious crepes and she told me how much she adored me. “

“Ah, last night I made love to my wife six times,” the Italian responded, “and this morning she made me a wonderful omelet and told me she could never love another man. “

When the Scotsman remained silent, the Frenchman smugly asked, “And how many times did you make love to your wife last night?” “Once,” he replied. “Only once?” the Italian arrogantly snorted. “And what did she say to you this morning? “

“Don’t stop!”

***

A Flight Attendant Joke

It was mealtime on a small airline and the stewardess asked the passenger if he would like dinner.
“What are my choices?” he asked.
She replied, “Yes or No.”

***

A wife, arriving home from a shopping trip, was horrified to find her husband in bed with a lovely young woman. Just as the wife was about to storm out of the house, her husband stopped her with these words:
Before you leave, I want you to hear how this all came about.
Driving along the highway, I saw this young woman looking tired and bedraggled, so I brought her home and made her a meal from the roast beef you had forgotten in refrigerator. She had only some worn sandals on her feet, so I gave her a pair of good shoes you had discarded because they had gone out of style. She was cold so I gave her a sweater I bought you for your birthday that you never wore because the color did not suit you. Her pants were worn out so I gave her a pair of yours that were perfectly good but too small for you now.
Then when she was about to leave the house she paused and asked, “Is there anything else your wife doesn’t use any more?”

***

Two guys are walking down the street when a mugger approaches them and demands their money.
They both grudgingly pull out their wallets and begin taking out their cash.
Just then one guy turns to the other and hands him a bill.
“Here’s that $20 I owe you,” he says.

***

Jesus and Satan were having an ongoing argument about who was better on the computer. They had been going at it for days, and frankly God was tired of hearing all the bickering.

Finally fed up, God said, “THAT’S IT! I have had enough and I am going to set up a test that will run for two hours, and from those results, I will judge who does the better job.”

So Satan and Jesus sat down at the keyboards and typed away.
They moused.
They faxed.
They e-mailed
They e-mailed with attachments
They downloaded.
They did spreadsheets.
They wrote reports.
They created labels and cards.
They created charts and graphs.
They did some genealogy reports.
They did every job known to man.

Jesus worked with heavenly efficiency and Satan was faster than hell! Then, ten minutes before their time was up, lightning suddenly flashed across the sky, thunder rolled, rain poured and, of course, the power went off!

Satan stared at his blank screen and screamed every curse word known in the underworld. Jesus just sighed!

Finally the electricity came back on, and each of them restarted. Satan searching frantically, screaming……. “It’s gone! It’s ALL GONE! “I lost everything when the power went out!

Meanwhile, Jesus quietly started printing out all of his files from the past two hours of work. Satan observed this and became irate. “Wait!” he screamed…. “That’s not fair! He cheated! How come he has all his work and I don’t have any?”

God just shrugged and said, “Jesus Saves.”

 

Okay, it’s official, sports fans.  Winter has arrived at my place.  I’ve brushed and shoveled a bit of snow a couple of times earlier, but yesterday, the first snowplow went past my house.  No joke!    😦

 

 

 

Ready, Aim, Fire!

Canning season is upon us.  Our supply of dill pickles has been slowly but surely dwindling, and replacements must be made.  Cucumbers have been available for a month or more, but the dill plants are only now coming into their own.

We had massage/osteopathy appointments on Thursday, so we were unable to go to the Farmers’ Market.  We had to go Saturday.  Neither the wife nor daughter is an early riser, and usually we get there 10:00/10:30 AM.  This was Labor Day Saturday!!!  D-Day would have been easier.  With both of them handicapped, I insisted that we get there 8:00/8:30 AM, to be able to park in the same Postal Code, and we still nearly needed to bring our own parking space.

More and more, we are joining the ranks of the Lazy And Incompetent cooks I wrote about 15 months ago.  A couple of weeks ago, the wife found that the Wholesale Warehouse has gallon cans of diced tomatoes, which we could use for making salsa or chili sauce whenever they are needed.  The cost is less than the equivalent amount of fresh tomatoes, bought at the market, and they have already been skinned and chopped.

Dill pickles though, still require the personal touch.  We bought a half a bushel of small cucumbers from a favorite vendor, and some fragrant dill stalks from a Mennonite, and hauled them home.  The car still smells of dill – Mmmh!  Saturday evening, we scrubbed the cucumbers and put them to soak overnight.  Sunday afternoon, we started cutting and slicing.

Then we made up the first batch of canning syrup.  We had obtained a couple of pounds of de-skinned garlic, which needed to be blanched.  We used the water from that, to add garlic flavor to the pickling mixture.  We, (as in, the wife) cut the heads off the dill plants, to add to each jar, and cut up the stems to be boiled with the syrup, to add more dill flavor.

The first batch complete by about 9:30, we sent the son out to pick up a couple of pizzas for supper, and then mixed up another pot of witches’ brew, for a second batch.  By 2 AM we had canned (bottled) 15 quarts, 15 pints, and three half-pints, of slices, chunks, and quarters.  Actually, both the son and the grandson like to eat the garlic chunks which add flavor at the bottom of the jars, so, two of the half-pints were the last of the garlic which didn’t go in with the pickles.

Just as we were bottling the last of the pickles we’d obtained at the market the day before, the main building at the Farmers’ Market was busy burning down.  A passerby reported flames at about 1:30 AM, and by the time firemen arrived, all they could do was prevent damage to other, nearby buildings.  Designed to resemble a Mennonite barn, only the fittings and contents were metal and glass.  All the rest was solid, dry wood.

It will take a few days to establish the cause.  In the meantime, 60 vendors and countless customers are impacted.  Many of the locations on the main floor sold meat, as well as eggs, or Guernsey milk.  There were also a candy vendor, produce, fish, cheese, baked goods, a specialty tea/coffee place tucked under the stairs, and an eating area at one end with picnic-table seating, and several stalls selling donairs, pizza, perogies, cinnamon buns, hot apple fritters, Oktoberfest sausages and fries and burgers.  Outlets on mezzanines on both sides provided Mennonite quilts, footwear, leather clothing, dream-catchers, jewelry, semi-precious gemstones, and other various kitsch.  There may be a small puddle of melted gold in the ashes.

The market is a huge tourist trap attraction, with busloads of blue-haired walker-pushers being bussed in from New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio and Michigan.  We met a nice couple from London, Ontario, over coffee, Saturday morning.  Management is not sure whether cleanup will proceed quickly enough to allow the rest of the market to open as soon as this coming Thursday.

The Market is Waterloo Region’s answer to Santa’s Village, Niagara Falls, or the Shakespeare Festival.  I am sure that the structure will be rebuilt, perhaps even larger, grander, more Mennonite-ish, but winter is almost upon us.  It could be up to a year to get it replaced.  Built just before legislation made it mandatory, it had no sprinkler system.  Any replacement must provide an elevator, if a second storey is included.

In the meantime, we can attend to get our vegetables, and apple fritters and hot chocolate.  We may have to follow that with longer, scenic drives to other Southern-Ontario tiny hamlets, with names like Heidelberg, Dorking and Elora, to get the quality meats we have grown used to. (Do you like Dorking??  I don’t know, I’ve never Dorked.  Yeah, right!)

Like fine wine, it takes a while for pickles to age.  By early next summer these could be ready to open, and let breathe.  Anybody up for a barbecue?  I could show up with the hamburger slices.  All you’d have to provide would be the burgers and beer – and potato salad – and corn….could we do corn??

Triviana Two

The further spewings of a mind incapable of holding a cogent thought longer than….what was I saying?  Oh, yeah.

Do you store your kitchen knives in a wooden knife-block?  Are there grooves in the bottom of each slot?  You aren’t doing the edge, or the block, any good.  I was watching a British detective show, and the young Copper wanted to impress a date, by cooking up a home-made meal.  He reached over and removed a knife from the block – upside-down!  And the little light went on!  There’s no rule that says they have to go in edge down.  The knife-nut took a Gibbs’ head-smack out of petty-cash, and moved on.

This area must be a good one to live in.  There have been three articles about birthdays in the paper recently.  First, the oldest person in the Region is a lady who is now 106 years old.  A week later, we had a report of twin brothers who had celebrated their 100th.  Granted, they were born in India, and came here after W.W. II, but two of them??!  One hundred!!  Must be the water…. or the preservatives in the Twinkies.  Finally, there was an article about a pair of female twins who had reached 90 years of age.

When she listens to radio in the evening, while reading, the wife likes to put on a local station which carries a syndicated show by New-Ager, John Tesh.  She likes the choice of music on his show, but his inane yammering drives her crazy.  I heard him say, the other night, that someone had done a study of 3700 crosswalk push buttons.  I don’t know what disturbed me most, that someone had got paid to study crosswalk buttons, or how badly they screwed up the findings.

Tesh claimed that 47% weren’t connected to anything, because, when they were pushed, nothing happened.  In my Analog Curmudgeon post, I bitched about things going on in the background in computers, which I couldn’t see.  It’s the same with computer-controlled traffic lights.  Just because you push a button, it doesn’t mean that the light will immediately go green.

The Traffic Department doesn’t want the flow of traffic disrupted, nor drivers slamming on brakes to stop at suddenly-red lights.  Your request goes into the system and your walk-light will appear in sequence.

MSN had an article today, about lengthening the time on yellow lights.  If the dwell-time is too short, drivers are put in a dilemma-spot.  Do they take a chance on running a red light, or slam on the brakes, and possibly get rear-ended?  The local Traffic Department, like others everywhere, installed red-light cameras at several problem intersections, “To improve safety!”  An independent survey group recently revealed that crashes at these corners are up 31%, and personal injuries have increased by 51 %.

Despite having these data given to him, the Traffic Co-ordinator insists that it’s not about the cash infusion from the fines, “It’s about the safety.”  We pay the company which installed and maintains the cameras, an outrageous fee.  The Ontario government takes an unearned cut, and the Region banks what’s left.  Thanks, Mr. Co-ordinator, my wallet feels much safer, just like your job.

As an ego sop to a bunch of egotistic saps, the Regional Council seems hell-bent on putting an LRT street-railroad down the middle of the already too-small, over-burdened main street.  Despite huge public outrage, it seems destined to be a fait accompli.  The projected cost is 818$ million.  The Provincial and Federal Governments are each providing one-third of the funding, but that just means we’re getting our own money back.  The inevitable cost over-runs will push it above ONE BILLION.

Regional Council has paid a local think-tank $75,000, to come up with a name which will make us like it.  Citizen suggestions had already included White Elephant, SUB – seldom used boondoggle, WTF – Waterloo Transit fiasco, TNT – Taxpayers’ nightmare transit, MET – money-eating taxer, FUUS – forced upon us suckers, RBI – really bad investment, RMP – Regional money pit, and OUCH – over-priced, under-used cash hole.

Without consulting the public, probably because of the above, the fairy-dust sniffers brought it down to three names.  They felt it should be Trio, for the three main cities in the Region, even though Cambridge will not be hooked up for years, if ever; Arc, because of the pot-of-gold (Which it’s going to cost us.) at the end of the rainbow feeling, and the curve it forms on the map; or Ion, which is supposed to represent energy, and the local electronic/technology industry.

With the predictable public reaction, they are now back-pedalling, and offering to accept public input.  C’mon guys, you’re burning money!  Somebody do what they’re (over)paid to do, make a damned decision.  Why not officially name it what everybody’s going to call it anyway – LRT?

Three naked male teens were reported jumping on a trampoline in a residential backyard recently.  They were clothed when police arrived, but were cautioned.  This is Ontario, in mid-January; parts can freeze and break off.

In case you didn’t notice at Christmas-time, the Politically-Correct Police removed the reference to Santa smoking a pipe, from the, ‘Twas The Night Before Christmas, poem.  They declared that nicotine addiction was “a pediatric disease, for which prevention must start early.”  This ranks with the Bowdlerization of Mark Twain’s, Huck Finn, and the recent furore over the movie Django Unchained.  It ain’t pretty, but it’s historical fact.  Not being exposed to it merely prevents us from making an informed decision when it inevitably arises.

I know my header says “Rants and Rambles”, but that’s enough for now.  I don’t want to tire you out with all that thinkin’ stuff.

Innocent Till Proven Christmas

Bah, F***ng Humbug!

Ebenezer Scrooge was a piker….an amateur….a poseur who was seduced, and relapsed.  He had no determination or staying power.  If you want to know all about hating the Christmas season, just climb up and sit on my lap little boy….or girl, I’m an equal opportunity pervert, and I’ll tell you how it really is.

A 26-year-old man was arrested and charged in Germany for being drunk in a public place, and causing a disturbance.  He allegedly lurched his way through the playground of a public park, and told all the little boys and girls playing there, that there was NO SANTA!  Well, they were just kids, and little children shouldn’t be disappointed, but I understand his displeasure, and how he probably got that way.

Christmas is great for children, and families.  It’s wonderful to get together with friends and relatives, and enjoy the love and support.  You know what’s not great??!  The rest of it!  The very fact that I’m blogging about it now should give you a hint.  Christmas is a beautiful day.  It used to be just a day, then it was a period, then it was a season, now it’s a juggernaut of an industry.

I’m all for peace and love, and getting together with friends and family….on Christmas!  If you need a few days before or after to wrap presents or prepare food or stay and visit, I’m cool with that.  If you need some extra time before to go shopping, I understand stores’ need to advertise and promote.

American stores sneaking north of the border to infiltrate Canadian shopping patterns have already brought us Black Friday, without the Thanksgiving Thursday to go with it.  I’m too lazy to do it, but if somebody else wants to start a drive limiting the time for Christmas retailery and feelgoodery, I’d sign up in a second.

I would think that the first of December would be an acceptable date.  Black Friday is already pushing things.  If it stopped there, I still wouldn’t bitch too much, but it doesn’t.  On Monday, November 12, the day after Remembrance Day, the neighbors across the street turned on their outdoor Christmas lights.  Turned them on, because they never take them down.

Why rant about pretty lights, I hear you ask?  Because they are Hindu Sikhs, that’s why, trying to look like they fit in and draw attention away from the fact that they run an illegal food-service business out of their house.  City crews in both municipalities are installing Christmas lights on trees and bushes in both main city parks.  They do it now, while the weather is still decent, but they don’t get turned on till two weeks before the big event.

My favorite radio station used to play nothing but hard-edged classic rock.  Because of demographic changes, they now only play some hard rock, and slip in Justin Bieber and petulant Taylor Swift, never, never, ever getting back with a boyfriend who’s probably already moved on.  They have theme weekends, like hits songs which never made it to number one.

I turned the stereo on this past weekend and heard Felice Navidad.  Apparently a Christmas song weekend….seven weeks before Christmas.  I went out in the car on Monday, and turned on the radio, and heard Felice Navidad again, all Christmas songs, all the time, from now till Yule.  There’s a station available on-line which plays Christmas music 24/7/365.

In my crossword puzzle yesterday, the solution to one clue was Auld Lang Syne.  I stopped into a store to pick up a present, and Auld Lang Syne was playing on the Muzak.  That’s a New Year’s song, for a week even further past Christmas.  That’s the kind of thing that probably set off Herr Lagertippen, above!  This stuff has been visually and aurally assaulting us for weeks….and there’s no end in sight!  Make it stop!  Make it stop!!

The city is paying a few people to patrol the main street and ask folks why they’re not smiling, and try to get them to smile.  You know why I’m not smiling??!  Because my tax dollars are being wasted to pay gooders to interfere in my busy day.  Just because I wasn’t broadly grinning, doesn’t mean that I’m unhappy.  At least I wasn’t, till you stuck your nose in my business, and got all judgemental.

I’m reading a book right now, titled Overkill.  I considered that as a title for this piece.  I haven’t even addressed the increasing numbers of non-Christians among us, because this isn’t about religion, despite what the thumpers claim.  This is about commerce and culture.

There’s a story about a newly-wed who complains comments about his young bride’s somewhat limited menu. She replies, “What?! You liked beans on Monday, you liked beans on Tuesday, you liked beans on Wednesday, you liked beans on Thursday.  Here it is Friday, and suddenly you don’t like beans??!”  Sometimes there’s too much of even a good thing.  Enjoy peace and prosperity.  Enjoy family, friends and food.  Enjoy Christmas at/near Christmas, and turn off the damned lights and music so that the birds and I can sleep.  Scrooge, were you taking notes?