’23 A To Z Challenge – D

Don’t be a horse’s ass!  Use some horse sense.  Someone once decried steam locomotive trains, saying that travelling more than 40 MPH would drive people insane.  Sorry!!  They came in that way.

The 20^th Century and the 21^st have been a period of great, rapid, technological advancement and development.  Some people are able to keep with part, or all of it, better than others.  Bigots sometimes denigrate middle-Easterners, by calling them camel-riders.  That sometimes is a good idea – the camel-riding, not the name-calling.

A scientific expedition to research a geographic anomaly in the Sahara, hired a Bedouin guide who was reputed to know the desert well.  They loaded him in one of their jeeps, and tore off into the sand.  After a day of driving they stopped, and asked him where they were, and where their destination was.  He had no idea!!  He knew the desert by how long it took to get to any part of it, by camel.

Trafficking in stupidity!

There are waaayyyy too many car drivers who should be restricted to horse-drawn carts, pulled by

DOBBIN

a horse, especially a quiet, plodding horse for farm work or family use.

A horse would be smarter than many drivers.  I don’t drive much anymore, but I DO watch some “Idiots in Cars” YouTube videos.  A horse would get out of the way of a lot of these accidents.  I’ve bitched that some people don’t drive past the hood of their car.  The worst of them don’t drive past the end of their nose.  These are the ones who should take a bus, a cab, or an Uber.

Oh, the road lanes separate ahead, and there’s a concrete divider with buttress at the end.
I’ll just keep driving right into it.
I’m going so slow, that someone is making a left-turn in front of me.
I won’t bother to swerve to avert a collision, or put on the brakes.  I’ll just drive slowly right into them.

A small rancher in Wyoming rode his horse several miles into what passed for a small town one evening.  He hitched Lightning outside a roadhouse bar, and went in and got snozzled.  At closing time he managed to clamber back into the saddle, smacked the horse on the rump, ordered Home, and slumped over the saddle-horn.

Lightning was happy to head back home, where there was food, and water, and other horses, so off he trotted.  Just outside town, an ambitious, officious State Trooper pulled the pair over, and charged the rancher with drunk driving.  Sometimes it’s just best to pay the damned fine.  Sometimes it ain’t.

He went to court, and argued to the judge that his horse was not a motor-vehicle as defined by law.  Also, in his condition, he was not in care and control of his autonomous transport.  The judge agreed, and dismissed the charge, saying that he felt the horse was the smartest of the three.

Saddle up and ride back on Friday, to meet Lyin’ Brian, my evil Fibbing Friday twin.  😉

Challenge: When Was The Last Time You Did Something New?

As I (slowly and painfully) approach 79, I thought that I was pretty much finished with “new things.”  Life had other ideas.

I recently tore a tendon in my left shoulder – probably shovelling snow.  I’ve never done that before.
I recently broke a rib – while sitting in my easy chair. I’ve never done that before.
I took the wife to the big, St. Mike’s, downtown hospital in Toronto, first for an endoscopic test, later for a pre-admission appointment, and finally for a difficult endoscopic surgery.  I’ve never done that before.

If I thought that traffic problems on the North-side bypass highway were bad, I ain’t seen nothin’ like the strangely-named, lake-hugging ‘Expressway’ I needed, to reach the hospital.  About the same volume of traffic, but with two or three fewer lanes to carry it in each direction.

It was a gigantic parking lot, sluggishly flowing along like a huge glacier, at barely better than a brisk walking pace – cars and trucks cutting others off, and drivers darting from lane to lane, frantically trying to gain a little space, and time.  I’m surprised that the reported rate of road rage and homicide isn’t higher.  I could see the hospital from the road, but the overhead electronic sign said that estimated arrival time at my exit was still 17 minutes.

That’s where the map program told me to drive six blocks north, and turn left onto Queen Street, where the hospital was located.  When I reached Queen, street signs said that left turns were prohibited.  Instantly, we were lost in a maze of narrow, crowded, one-way, no-turns-allowed, downtown streets, and were half an hour late eventually reaching the hospital.

This entire trip, especially the ‘Expressway’ portion, is not for the inexperienced or faint of heart, and not one that I cared to repeat.  The next “New” thing that the wife and I are going to do, is ride a train.  We have both ridden trains, but that was over half a century ago, shortly after steam engines gave way to diesels.

What will be “New” about it, will be the fact that it will be on a Commuter Train.  Every workday, tens – perhaps hundreds – of thousands of people commute hundreds of miles, from all over Southern Ontario, by means of 12 different rail-routes to go to work in the Big Smoke, using a system called GO-Trains.

The wife and I will use the Kitchener-to-Union Station, Toronto, portion of one of them.  Our Osteopath tried to convince us to use the regular Via Rail service.  ‘There’s more foot and leg room, and the seats are larger and more comfortable.’  And the difference in ticket costs for a one-way, one-passenger ride is, VIA – $89 vs. GO-Train Seniors’ price – $9.  Six trips, times $80/trip savings, totals $480!  For almost $500, I’d ride in a sardine can.  I was born at night – just not LAST night.  Take the GO train – cheap, simple and easy – no fuss, no muss, no expensive gas, no getting lost, no driving stress, no outrageous parking fees.

Assuming that all goes well – and since the best GI endo surgeon in the world, is performing the operation, in the best GI hospital suite in Canada, there’s no reason to assume otherwise – the next ‘New’ thing that the wife and I will try, as a celebration, is to drive to the more-easily and safely reached IKEA store on the near side of Toronto.

We’ll do the tourist thing and people-watch, and have the Swedish meatball lunch, perhaps with a Carlsberg Dark beer, and maybe some lingonberry jam.

A Fear Of Fibbing Fridays

So, Pensitivity101 wants to know, “What do you think these are phobias of?”

Ablutophobia

It’s a fear of having to watch old Popeye cartoons.  Does anyone remember when the bad-guy character, ‘Bluto’ suddenly became ‘Brutus,’ because King Features couldn’t keep their books straight?

Androphobia

It is the fear of having yet another Terminator sequel movie released.  It would be sad to see Arnold hobbling around like a geriatric T-800 model with a cane, or walker.

Ataxophobia

This is the fear of the approaching, mid-April deadline, both with the American IRS, (Notice that The IRS spells theirs) and the UK Inland Revenue.  Canadians get another two weeks of paralyzing terror each year – until the end of the month.  It’s no favour!  I say it’s like ripping a Band-Aid off.  Be like Nike, and Just Do It!

Autophobia

This is the quite-reasonable distress caused by having to go out upon the streets and roads with all those Other Drivers.  I’m okay, but they’re all just a bunch of weird accidents, waiting to happen, and probably catching me in the crunch.
Anyone who doesn’t drive as fast as me is an idiot.  Anyone who drives faster than me is an asshole.  Forget World Peace – envision using your turn signals.

Bathmophobia is the fear of the end of the day, when you have three preschoolers and a sandbox.  Soap suds spreading faster than The Big Bang – and when you finally get them all clean, you discover that one of them is the neighbour’s kid.  😳

Chromophobia has suffered technological obsolescence.  50 years ago, the little gear-head greasers plated every piece of exposed metal on their cars bright and shiny silver.  Today’s OY-Generation decorate their penis-substitute Lego-plastic toy cars with neon brothel-lights, rear spoilers whose only purpose is to hold beers while they brag to each other, and modify their exhausts so that little Dachshund cars sound like Great Danes.  They claim that they soup them up!  Yeah, right – soup in a sieve.  😯

Ephebiphobia is the feeling of unease, when you realize that your unmarried aunt has been batting for both teams all along.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Genuphobia is the fear non-Catholics have, of having to attend a wedding or baptism in a Catholic church.  You never know when to kneel, or when to stand up, or sit down.  They’re all up and down like a prostitute’s panties.  By the time you figure it out, they’ve got the hymnbook out, and are singing.

Heliophobia

Ever since Kobe Bryant’s little mishap, it’s what has caused me to decide to not use gasoline-powered aerial eggbeaters as a mode of transportation.  It’s not what I want people to mean when they say, “He was a down-to-Earth person.”  👿

Nomophobia

This is an irrational fear of garden figurines.

Osmophobia was the absolute panic I felt when I heard a rumour that some television network, desperate to replace lost viewers, was going to give Donny and Marie another hour-long variety show.  At their age, they can’t carry a tune in a bucket.  Donny’s ‘little bit Rock and Roll’ would be shuffle and wheeze, and his purple socks would be orthopedic.

Podophobia is a fear of being unexpectedly called upon to say a few words at some community gathering.  Unaccustomed as I am at public speaking – I’m gonna sit down, have another beer, and let the paid performing seals do their job.

Trypophobia

This was the terrible uncertainty that I felt recently.  I went into the office break room early in the morning.  Someone had put out a Tupperware container of fudge brownies, so I took one.  I returned soon after, to see if the coffee machine had finished.  There was now a note on the brownie box.

I Made These Brownies For Shits And Giggles
Half of them have cannabis.
The other half have laxative
Try One. Wait a half-hour, and find out which.

Wiccaphobia

Which way did they go?  How many of them were there?  When did they leave?  I must find them – for I am their leader.

This is the fear that you are going to be assigned another project, because your boss is not sufficiently computer-literate to access the internet and look for himself.  Not only will you have to do extra research, but it will be on constantly-changing websites that can be edited by people who wear MAGA hats, and believe that the world is flat.  😥

Zuigerphobia

It’s the feeling of imminent doom that arises locally, beginning about the middle of September, when we realize that half a million people who want to get drunk and obnoxious, and throw up in a different town, are about to descend on our city for Oktoberfest.  Before I retired, I used to book the week off – not to party, but because I was tired of getting pulled over in DUI/RIDE Program Traffic checks.  That really sucks.  😉

***

I have a phobia that Pensitivity didn’t list.  It’s demifiniphobia.  That’s the fear I felt when I looked at all these big, fancy words, worried that I will only be able to respond to about half the prompts, and end up looking like a half-assed halfwit.

Why Go To Church?

One Sunday morning, a mother went in to wake her son and tell him it was time to get ready for church, to which he replied, “I’m not going.”
“Why not?” she asked.
I’ll give you two good reasons,” he said. “(1) They don’t like me, and (2) I don’t like them.”
His mother replied, “I’ll give you two good reasons why you SHOULD go to church: (1) You’re 59 years old, and (2) you’re the pastor!”

***

The Picnic
A Jewish Rabbi and a Catholic Priest met at the town’s annual 4th of July picnic.
Old friends, they began their usual banter.
“This baked ham is really delicious,” the priest teased the rabbi. “You really ought to try it. I know it’s against your religion, but I can’t understand why such a wonderful food should be forbidden! You don’t know what you’re missing. You just haven’t lived until you’ve tried Mrs. Hall’s prized Virginia Baked Ham. Tell me, Rabbi, when are you going to break down and try it?”
The rabbi looked at the priest with a big grin, and said, “At your wedding.”

***

The Usher
An elderly woman walked into the local country church.
The friendly usher greeted her at the door and helped her up the flight of steps.
“Where would you like to sit?” he asked politely.
“The front row, please,” she answered.
“You really don’t want to do that,” the usher said. “The pastor is really boring.”
“Do you happen to know who I am?” the woman inquired.
“No,” he said.
“I’m the pastor’s mother,” she replied indignantly.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked.
“No,” she said.
“Good,” he answered.

***

Show And Tell
A kindergarten teacher gave her class a “show and tell” assignment.
Each student was instructed to bring in an object that represented their religion to share with the class.
The first student got up in front of the class and said, “My name is Benjamin and I am Jewish and this is a Star of David.”
The second student got up in front of the class and said, “My name is Mary. I’m a Catholic and this is a rosary.”
The third student got in up front of the class and said, “My name is Tommy. I am Methodist, and this is a casserole.”

***

Goat For Dinner
The young couple invited their elderly pastor for Sunday dinner.
While they were in the kitchen preparing the meal, the minister asked their son what they were having.
“Goat,” the little boy replied.
“Goat?” replied the startled man of the cloth, “Are you sure about that?”
“Yep,” said the youngster. “I heard Dad say to Mom, ‘Today is just as good as any to have the old goat for dinner’.”

Oh Lord, keep Your arm around my shoulder and Your hand over my big mouth!!!

***

Grandma is eighty-eight years old and still drives her own car. She writes:
Dear Grand-daughter,

The other day I went up to our local Christian book store and saw a ‘Honk if you love Jesus’ bumper sticker.

I was feeling particularly sassy that day because I had just come from a thrilling choir performance, followed by a thunderous prayer meeting.  So, I bought the sticker and put it on my bumper.  Boy, am I glad I did; what an uplifting experience that followed.  I was stopped at a red light at a busy intersection, just lost in thought about the Lord and how good he is, and I didn’t notice that the light had changed.

It is a good thing someone else loves Jesus because if he hadn’t honked, I’d never have noticed.

I found that lot of people love Jesus!

While I was sitting there, the guy behind started honking like crazy, and then he leaned out of his window and screamed, ‘For the love of God!’  ‘Go! Go! Go! Jesus Christ, GO!’

What an exuberant cheerleader he was for Jesus!

He Is Not A Pleasant Fellow

I am not a very pleasant fellow – as certified by my wife.

The son often reads Quora, an online discussion forum, which has the recurring theme, “Was I The Asshole?”  I did it again – or did I??!  You be the judge.

The wife and I entered a small variety store – think Wal-Mart-Lite.  As many stores do, the entrance aisle was narrow.  Ten feet in, the store had put clothing racks on either side, narrowing traffic even more.  Two corpulent women stood, examining clothing on one rack.  Their shopping cart was crossways to traffic flow, with its nose buried in the far rack.

We, and the couple behind us, could not proceed.  I reached ahead, and moved their cart parallel to the aisle.  We all started forward.  Just as we passed, I heard one woman complain, “He’s not a very pleasant fellow, is he?”  Despite the fact that the wife insists that I need hearing aids, I heard her mutter, “No, he’s not, is he?”

Now, some of my readers might be surprised, but being voted a pleasant fellow by a random idiot bunch of total strangers is not on my list of desired goals.  Then I started thinking about the encounter.  Just what would I have had to do to be considered pleasant??!  What did I do, to deserve such denigration?

I didn’t scream or yell.  I didn’t raise my voice.  I didn’t demand.  I didn’t curse and swear. I didn’t insult either of them.  I didn’t say a word.  I didn’t even require that one of them actually move the offending obstacle.

I could have put a smile in my big, stertorous, public-speaking voice, and sweetly asked, “Could someone please take their inattentive and exasperating head out of their Fucking ass and move this piece-of-shit cart, so that I can get into this God-damned store??!

But no!  This was more like a good day at work.  No-one actually died.  There wasn’t much blood, and the flames were quickly extinguished.  What does a fellow have to do to be declared polite and pleasant, and not get voted off the island?

Now it’s your turn to vote.  Was I the asshole??  Or just a pleasant, if not totally innocent, bystander?

I’ll tabulate the ballots on Friday.  No Fibbing.  😉

WOW #74

Yeehaw, buckaroos, this here’s a rootin’, tootin’ yarn about three funny, over-the-hill characters.

Not that three!!  That there is a picture of me and my brother and sister!  😯  How did that get in here?

No, I’m talking about the even older and less significant, Middle English comedy trio of

ROOTLE

TOOTLE

AND

FOOTLE

Do not confuse Rootle with The Rutles, a fake British band that became a real one, much like the fake American band, The Monkees, did.

Rootle is the sometimes-used British alternative verb form of root – to root about like a hog.
to turn up the soil with the snout, as swine.
to poke, pry, or search, as if to find something

Melodious little Tootle means to toot gently or repeatedly on a flute or the like.
to move or proceed in a leisurely way.
Hong Kong English driving instructions include, If pedestrian do not move advantageous, tootle him gently.

You can get footloose with Footle, if you act or talk in a foolish or silly way, loiter aimlessly; potter, or talk nonsense.

Trust the English language to confuse those who are trying to learn it – three words – one basic spelling – two different pronunciations.  😳

Showing the difference between Canadian English and British English, I was taught to putter, rather than potter.  To ‘potter’ would require a throwing wheel, and a kiln.  For me to ‘putter’ only takes a long, strangely-shaped stick to get the ball rolling.  Golf is a lovely walk in the sun and fresh air – spoiled by having to chase a little white ball.  It’ll be par for me to be rootin’ and tootin’ again in a couple of days.

Journey Into Hell

Retail Therapy – And How To Avoid It

I wrote three years ago, about driving almost two hours – one hour of it in some of Canada’s worst traffic – and the two-hour, mirror, return trip, to obtain a vintage IBM Selectric, golf-ball typewriter.  It did not work.

The wife was going to contact a repair shop in Hamilton, which claimed that they could repair it.  We bought a metal typing table for it, at an office-goods recycling shop.

We did not contact the repair shop.
The typing table takes up a bit of the rapidly dwindling free space in the garage.
I put it on a craft table, between two storage bins, by the window in the computer room.
The cats love it.  They use it as a stepping stone to bask in the sunlight.
I own a vintage paper weight.
Anybody want it??  Free to a good home.  “Good” defined as one that will take it.

Flash Fiction #272

PHOTO PROMPT © Brenda Cox

NARROW-GAUGE ONE-TRACK-MIND

The American Military had to assign rocket scientist, Werner von Braun a driver, when he was late for a meeting – which he called!

Concerned officials eventually located him at a traffic light, with his foot on the car’s brake.  He had had an idea, and his mind had taken him somewhere other than his meeting.  The light was green just as they arrived, and he was oblivious to the traffic that was flowing past him in all directions.

My brain, with its three squirrels running on two wheels, envies him his ability to concentrate.  I occasionally need a minder also.

***

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 #263

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

EXCESS TO REQUIREMENTS

It’s a good thing I’m retired, and have nowhere to go and all day to get there.  They’re hauling the raw material for Trump’s wigs away.  It’s going to a carpet factory to make new flooring for Kamala Harris’s office. Perhaps when it’s delivered, someone could teach her how to pronounce her name correctly.

Her Father, Kamal, pronounced his name, kah-mahl, so, properly, hers should be kah-mahl-ah.  I wonder if the chicken or the egg came first.  Someone would have us believe that there is no connection to Islam, and she’s a white Valley Girl, with a name resembling Pamela.

***

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

A Flash Of Humor

 

I was driving when I first saw the flash of a traffic camera. I figured that my picture had been taken for speeding, even though I knew I wasn’t. Just to be sure, I went around the block and passed the same spot, driving even more slowly. But again the camera flashed. Thinking this was pretty funny, I drove past even slower three more times, laughing as the camera snapped away each time I drove by at a snail’s pace. Two weeks later, I got five tickets in the mail for driving without a seatbelt.

***

One day a preacher and a boy with his little red wagon were walking down the street when a wheel fell off of the wagon.  Goddammit! The boy exclaimed.

Son don’t you dare use the lord’s name in vain! You say ‘God bless! instead, the preacher scolded

The next day they’re walking and two wheels fall off of the little red wagon.  The boy caught himself after he said it – Ah goddammit….. Sorry!

The Preacher – Boy what’d I tell you?! You say God bless it when that happens and don’t let me hear you cuss like that again!  ……Yes sir, said the boy.

Day three rolls around and three wheels pop off the wagon.  God fricken dammit oh shi—SORRY SIR!

Boy this is the last time I’m gonna tell you to stop using the good lord’s name in vain! You say God bless it instead!!!

So the fourth day rolls around and all four wheels pop off of the wagon and the little boy paused for a moment – …….God bless it….

*All four wheels pop right back on the wagon*

The preacher – WHOA GAWD DAMN!

***

Cop on horse says to little girl on bike, Did Santa get you that?

Yes, replies the little girl.
Well tell him to put a reflector light on it next year! and fines her $5.
The little girl looks up at the cop and says, Nice horse you’ve got there, did Santa bring you that?
The cop chuckles and replies, He sure did!
Well, says the little girl, Next year tell Santa that the dick goes under the horse, not on top of it!

***

Three nuns were walking down the street each lost in introspective thought when a man wearing only a trench coat jumped out from behind a hedge and flashed the nuns. Well the first nun had a stroke! Then the second nun had a stroke as well. The third nun wouldn’t touch it.

***

The wife stormed into the pub last night, as the boys and I were downing shots of tequila.
“You’re coming home right now.” she yelled.
“No I’m not!” I laughed.
She said, “I’m talking to the kids.”

***

I told my wife I was going to pick up Beer and Pizza on my way home.
She probably regrets letting me name our sons.

***

I’m just going to put an Out Of Order sticker on my forehead, and call it a day.

***

There was a salmon fisherman who was out in the ocean fishing when his boat sank.
He was lucky enough to make to a deserted island where he had to survive on what he could find.
When the Coastguard eventually found him, the leader noticed there was a fire pit with California Condor feathers all around.

He went over to the fisherman and said, “You know, it’s illegal to kill a California Condor, I’m afraid I’m going to have to arrest you.”
The fisherman protested for some time saying that he killed it because he was going to starve but eventually he calmed down.
“Out of curiosity” the coastguard asked, “What did it taste like?”
The fisherman replied, ”Well, it was kind of a mix between a snowy owl and a bald eagle.”