My Choice for 2013’s Most Annoying Verbiage

Well, Dear Readers, it’s time to  talk about the most annoying and overused words of 2013 which will be totally awesome and amazing and, like, whatever!

Michigan University has a website where people go throughout the year to vote for the words they think are the most annoying. This year “selfie”  “twerking” and “hashtag” topped their list of 2013’s most annoying words.

Well, Dear Readers, I’ve taken the liberty of coming up with my own list of annoying verbiage that I’ve managed to glean this year from conversations I’ve eavesdropped on while browsing through magazines at Barnes and Noble. The first one is:

“Babe”

Couples who call each other babe is fine.  But when you’re trying to concentrate on a Mad Magazine and the annoying couple standing next to you thumbing through Dwell Magazine are beginning and ending every sentence they utter with the word babe, as in:

“Babe, look at this, Babe!”

“Babe, we should totally do that with our kitchen, Babe!”

“Babe, yeah we should totally, Babe!”

Babe, yeah, yeah, yeah, Babe!”

. . . well, Dear Readers, hearing so many babes in rapid succession like that makes me want to leave and go upstairs to the Barns and Noble  snack bar and eat two stale Toffee Crunch Blondie Brownies as a way of making it up to myself.

Another phrase I find extremely annoying is:

“Stay off the technology!”

I remember a time last year when I was at the Barnes and Noble Magazine stand catching up on my Royal Baby news when I overheard a mother tell her children they could go upstairs if they promised her they would “stay off technology.”

I don’t know why, Dear Readers, and maybe it’s just me, but that phrase made me want to throw up stale Toffee Crunch Blondie Brownie right onto the pages of Babe’s Dwell Magazine.

But the phrase I find the most annoying of all is:

“Not a problem.”

I have a big problem with “not a problem”.  Okay to be fair, I’m not annoyed when someone uses “not a problem” when responding to actual problems, such as:

“Excuse me.  Would you mind helping me with this bank robbery?”

“Not a problem.”

or

“Listen, don’t bother returning my plumber’s helper to me after your are done unplugging your toilet.”

“Not a problem.”

But what I abhor is when “not a problem” becomes insidious and starts leaking into my very own conversation against my will — like, say, when I’m ordering goodies at the Barnes and Noble snack bar:

Me:  Yes, I’ll have a Lemon Crumb Bar.

Girl:  Not a problem.  That will be$3.75.

Me: Not a problem, thanks.

Girl:  Not a problem.

Me:  Oh, I’m sorry but this is stale.

Girl:  Not a problem. Here’s another one.

Me:  Alright not a problem, thanks.

Girl:  Not a problem.

Me:  Oh can I have a bag?

Girl:  Not a problem.  Oh, sorry, we’re out of bags.

Me:  Not a problem.

Girl:  So sorry.

Me:  Not a problem! Thank you.

Girl:  Not a problem!

Me:  Not a problem!

Anyway, Dear Readers, this is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to annoying verbiage or whatever but for the life of me I can’t think of anything else that’s amazing or awesome.  I hope that’s not a problem.

Until next time . . . I love you

What the Scientists Are Thinking About

“Sesquipedalian”

That’s easy for them to say

After studying a fossilized hyoid bone belonging to a Neanderthal, scientists have determined that Neanderthals could talk just as good well good as humans can.

“Many would argue that our capacity of speech and language is among the most fundamental characteristics that make us human,” said researcher Stephen Wroe who, as a human being himself, speaks very clearly except when trying to pronounce his last name.

“If Neanderthals also had language, then they were truly human too.”  Wroe added, an assertion that he knew didn’t really make any sense but he was just so darned happy!

Either way, all the researcher agree that even the ugliest human is way way prettier than the best looking Neanderthal that ever lived. Amen.

pigs that glow in the dark
Let there be oink!

The race to produce animals that glow in the dark

A Chinese team of researchers from Guangdong Province have injected jelly-fish DNA into pigs to quickly create a litter of pigs that glow in the dark in response to another team of researchers from Turkey who recently produced a jelly-fish DNA enhanced litter of glowing rabbits and are furiously working on making fluorescent sheep before the Chinese team can respond by creating a neon platypus and a night-light cow.

These accomplishments represent one more step towards a future in which genetic material from one animal can be incorporated into another opening the door to a new array of animals such as a living breathing turducken and a unicorn duck that doesn’t require night-vision goggles to see it after dark.

North Atlantic
The North Atlantic and a new species of sea snail, marine worm and two new types of clams. (sea snail, marine worm and clams not pictured)

New marine species discovered in North Atlantic

International experts have hailed the discovery of two new types of clams, a sea worm and a new species of sea snail as a momentous discovery.

“These hidden gems offer a fascinating glimpse of the treasures that still await discovery under the waves.” said Scottish Environment Secretary Richard Lochead who it is rumored found the sea creatures hiding behind some octopus bookends while he was dusting the northern Atlantic continental shelf.

Efforts were made to contact Scottish Environment Secretary Richard Lochead for verification of this rumor but he was out of the office dustbustering the coral reefs.

The snail, the worm and the clams declined to comment.

Seven Ways to Tell if You’re Addicted to Christmas Treats

Welcome Dear Readers!  Let’s start with a Christmas morning video  of my  granddaughter, Lily, who is just learning to walk.  Here she is with her new toy:

Okay!  Now onto the important matter of today’s post.  Did you eat too many sweets this Christmas?  Well if you did you may want to review this list:

How to tell if you’ve become addicted to Christmas Treats

That bad elbow has been officially diagnosed as Sugar Cookie tendonitis but you don’t care, you’re never giving up you sport.

Yeah but, Doc, I can't stop eating Christmas cookies n now, the Olympics are coming up.
Yeah but, Doc, I can’t stop eating Christmas cookies now, the Olympics are coming up!

If your house caught on fire you would be torn between either rescuing your spouse or his fudge rum balls.

"Sorry Ma'am.  The only ting we were able to save of your husband were his fudge rum balls." "Yay!  Oh, I mean darn the luck."
“Sorry Ma’am. The only thing we were able to save of your husband was his fudge rum balls.”
“Yahoooo!  No wait . . . I mean darn the luck.”

While you love the puppy you got for Christmas you’re convinced you’d love him even better if he was covered in chocolate and had a chewy nugget center.

Oh!  Him so potentially dewishious!
Oh! Him so potentially dewishious!

You’re faking a limp just so you can justify carrying around that humongous  candy cane.

No!  I'll be okay!  Just get me my humongous candycane!"
“No! I’ll be okay! Just get me my humongous candy cane!”

You’ve started referring to your troubles as your truffles.

"Nobody knows the truffles I've seen . . ."
“Nobody knows the truffles I’ve seen . . .”

You lied and told your children all their gingerbread men had been abducted by aliens so that they could conduct eating experiments even though it was really you conducting the eating experiments.

"I can't believe you ate all your children's Gingerbreadmen."
“You mean to tell me, Earth Lady, you actually ate all your children’s gingerbread men?”
” Please!  Stop! Can’t you see I hate myself enough already?”

And the final way to tell if you’ve become addicted to Christmas treats?

You resorted to eating some old-fashioned Christmas Candy that you found painted to the  bathroom shelf of your grandmother’s house and were so ashamed you checked yourself into Christmas Treat rehab.

Question:  Does Christmas Treat Addiction get any uglier than this? Answer:  No.
Question: Does Christmas Treat Addiction get any uglier than this?
Answer: No.

And there you have it, Dear Readers, how to tell if you’ve become addicted to Christmas Treats.

Until next time . . . I love you

Take the Christmas Litmus Test

Merry Christmas Dear Readers!  Are you having a fun Christmas so far?  What?  You’re not sure?  Well, take the Christmas Litmus test and find out!

You are having a fun Christmas so far if Santa didn’t bring you a:

You are having a fun Christmas so far if Christmas dinner doesn’t smell like:

You are having a fun Christmas so far if when your children opened the Christmas gifts you gave them they didn’t:

You are having a fun Christmas so far if the guests at your Christmas dinner didn’t consist of just you and:

 And there you have it, Dear Readers.  I hope this clears up any confusion you were having about whether or not you are having a fun Christmas!

Christmas dinner sure smells good!
Hey whatcha cookin’ for Christmas dinner?  It smells kinda familiar?

Until next time . . . I love you

A Visit from the Kind of Crazy Crabby Christmas Lady

Welcome Dear Readers!  Well we almost did it.  We almost got through Christmas without a visit from the Kind of Crazy Crabby Christmas Lady.  Unfortunately when I opened up the blog today she was camped outside waiting for us with her cats,  17 fruit cakes and a stick of dynamite.   I think we better humor her, don’t you?  Oh here she comes now . . . act natural . . . 

The Kind of Crazy Crabby Christmas Lady
The Kind of Crazy Crabby Christmas Lady

“Merry Christmas Crabby Christmas Lady! What a surprise!  Fancy meeting you here!”

Listen Toots.   I’m not a big fan of Christmas.  Okay? Got that?  First of all, Christmas comes every single year. That’s way too often, Toots.  Waaay too often!  Christmas should come every  five years. That way everybody wouldn’t be so sick of it.   And Jesus would be much younger too.  It’s called a win/win, Toots! Okay? Got that?

“Well Christmas Lady, that’s an interesting idea but—“

Toots I’m not done talking yet.  If Christmas only came once every five years, the Christmas songs wouldn’t be so annoying and repetitive!

“Well, I suppose if—“

Toots!  Stop talking and get some saucers of milk for my cats.  Okay?  Got that?

“Uh I don’t think I have that many saucers, Christmas Lady . . .”

Toots I’m not done talking yet!  The Christmas songs are annoying because of all the bells jing-jing-jingling!   And all the hark hark harking as in hark how the bells, sweet silver bells, all seem to say, throw cares away — what does that mean exactly, Toots? The bells are ringing and ringing and ringing so loud you can’t even hear yourself think, Toots!  You just can’t!  And they are telling you to “throw cares away and buy whatever you want . .  whatever you want, Toots!   Aluminun foil. The bells don’t care that you already have 14,000 boxes of Aluminum foil in your storage unit.  It doesn’t matter if you can’t afford it because the bells told me to do it, Toots!  Toots are you listening? What are you opening the door and handing me my coat, Toots?

“Listen I hate to cut our visit short but—“

Which brings us to the Christmas sugar, Toots! A hahahaha!  I’m dreaming of a white C & H  pure cane sugar from Hawaii Christmas, Toots!  What with all the sugar cookies and the sugar candy and the sugar plums and the sugar houses and the sugar nativity scenes. Have you ever tried to eat a tree ornament, Toots? They are edible you know. They are made of sugar plastic . . . mmm. . . sugar plastic!

And do you know what sugar plastic does Toots?  Well do you?

“Uh  I’m not really listening anymore, Christmas Lady, I— “

Listen and listen good, Toots!  Sugar plastic causes your little fat cells to sit up straight and pay attention all innocent-like at their little fat cell card tables covered with the tiny candy cane plastic table cloths wearing their teensy Santa bibs and Santa hats each holding miniscule red and green plastic forks which they will devour when they are done because they are made out of sugar plastic too.  Okay? Got that?

“Yes Christmas Lady.  By the way, I’m going to be out of town next year at Christmas so there’s no need to be dropping by again.”

Fine.  Good I’m leaving now, Toots. Okay?  Got that?  Here kitty kitty kitty . . 

“Bye Kind of Crazy Crabby Christmas Lady.  Merry Christmas!”

Phew!  I didn’t think we were every going to get rid of her did you, Dear Readers?  Oh look she left us a present under the tree.  Let’s open it early shall we?  Why it’s a stick of dynamite.  Well bless her Kind of Crazy Crabby Christmas heart!

Until next time . . . I love you!

What the Scientists are Thinking About

MIT Researcher
MIT Researcher, Dr. Shattuck-Hufnagel 

That’s easy for you to say, sure, but you’re not an MIT Researcher.

Researchers at MIT have come up with the world’s most difficult tongue twister in an attempt to shed light on the brain’s speech planning process while at the same time shedding light on the MIT researchers brains’ ability to think up ways to get paid without doing any actual work.

Dr. Stefanie Shattuck-Hufnagel (who prefers being called by her nickname Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers), and her scientific tongue twisting associates have deemed “pad kid poured curd pulled cold” to be the hardest phrase to utter in the English language with the exception of Dr. Stefanie Shattuck-Hufnagel’s hyphenated last name.

“Certain combinations of sounds appear to make people lose control of their mouths when spoken too quickly.”  Dr. Stafanie Shattuck-Hufnagel aka Sally Sells Sea Shells at the Seashore was quoted a little too quickly as saying and shortly thereafter was hospitalized with a serious case of  Uncontrollable Mouth Syndrome.

MIT has requested that all get well wishes and flowers be sent to the room where the sixth sick sheikh’s sixth sheep’s sick.

 

caveman
Plio-Pleistocene hominin Paranthropus boisei

The fossil remains of a hominid species dating back 1.34 million years was discovered right where somebody left it.

The partial skeleton of a large adult hominid has been uncovered in Tanzania by a group of researchers who couldn’t wait to use the new shovels they got for their birthdays.

Researchers uncovered a 1.34-million-year-old, well-formed forearm muscle that they think its owner used for “climbing, fine-manipulation and all sorts of behaviors” Dr. Charles Musiba and his team of researchers decided after thinking about it starting at lunch time and continuing to think about it off and on all afternoon until it was finally time to go home.

“We are starting to understand the physiology of these individuals and how they adapted to the kind of habitat they lived in.  The size of the arm bones suggests strong forearms and a powerful upper body.”  Dr. Musiba said out loud but he was thinking,  “Thank goodness he was dead or we could have gotten our butts kicked!”

Snow_and_ice_scenic_landscape
“I can’t feel my anything.”

Coldest place on earth discovered

Scientists have discovered a place on earth so cold that anyone out in it for even a short period of time “would see their eyes, nose and lungs freeze up within minutes.”

Scientists didn’t go on to elaborate how someone whose eyes were frozen could see their nose and lungs freeze up or how a person could see their nose and lungs freeze up even if their eyes weren’t already frozen, but Coldest Place on Earth Scientists are quick to conclude that another study involving frozen noses, eyes and lungs is in order.

One lasting between six months and six years at least! The scientists are currently writing to the government asking for a  grant which is going to be harder than the scientists thought while wearing mittens.

* * *

Until next time . . . I love you

True Confession Saturday: Christmas IS about the presents!

7989920_s

For a number of years , I went through a stage when I really didn’t like Christmas very much.   In fact, there was a time when Christmas was so overwhelming to me that conversion to Judaism seemed the easier route.

This wasn’t always true.  I actually used to be a Christmas Snob.  I’d completely overdo Christmas.

My mental list of Christmas duties would start accumulating the day after Thanksgiving and wouldn’t actually let up until the sun went down on Christmas day.

Home movies of me after Christmases when my kids were little  reveal a thin, pale woman sitting on the couch, robotically drinking coffee in a semi-comatose state while everyone else is running around playing and laughing.

Gratuitous Cuteness
Okay, this isn’t me, unfortunately I’m not nearly this cute.

Anyway, my fanatical inner Christmas perfectionism would zap all the joy and energy that was to be had out of the season.  I had no one to blame but myself.

Chasing this Perfect Snow White Christmas took such a toll on me that January became my favorite month of the year because it was the furthest away from Christmas.

And yet, when another Christmas would roll around, I could never tone it down.  I was stuck on a hamster wheel  in search of Christmas Perfect.

But now that I’m older, wiser (and much, much lazier),   I  don’t make  lists to see if everyone has the same amount of presents to open.  I don’t bake my fingers to the bone or  shop til I drop.

I wrap the presents and put them under the tree.  Then I sit back and watch and  enjoy everyone around me because I’ve finally learned the Big Christmas Lesson:

Christmas is our opportunity to jump off the hamster wheel of life for a while and just be deliberately  present with the people we love.

Christmas is about being present.

How ironic that it turns out Christmas is about the presents after all!

Until next time . . . I love you

A Christmas Visit from Mr. Scrooge

 

A Christmas Visit from Mr. Scrooge

 

 

Linda Vernon Humor Christmas Story
“Here’s your Christmas present, Tiny Tim.  It’s a Schwinn Bicycle.”
“It looks like Necco Wafers to me.”
“Shut up and eat your bicycle.”

Until next time . . . I love you

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Ineffectual Ghost of Christmas Past

Welcome, Dear Readers!  It’s day two of Blogdramedy’s Blog Festivus 2013 Christmas story week. Which means each day this week there will be a Christmas story based on Charles Dicken’s Christmas Carol.

Here’s today’s story:

The Ineffectual Ghost of Christmas Past

Ghost of Christmas Past:  Boo!  I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past! Boo!

Ebenezer:  Uh . . . I’m trying to eat, do you mind?

GOCP:  But I’m haunting you! Boo!

Ebenezer:  You, sir, are no Amityville Horror, but continue if you must.

GOCP:   Okay, Boo!  What’re you eating?

Ebenezer:  My Christmas Pie . . . I stick in my thumb and pull out a plumb and say what a good boy am I.

GOCP:  Wait!  Didn’t Tiny Tim used to have that job?

Ebenezer:  Yes, until I fired him and hired myself.  Plum?

GOCP:  Boo on you, Ebenezer Scrooge. Boo!

Ebenezer:  That’s it?  Boo?  Boo’s the best you’ve got?

GOCP:  No.  I also say  . . . .

Ebenezer:  What?

GOCP:  Hold on . . . googling . . . Oh! I also say, “Bwahaha!”

Ebenezer: Still not scary.  Sorry.

GOCP:  But the Ghost Hunter guys go nuts when they hear that.

Ebenezer:  And do they look like geniuses to you?

GOCP:  Screw you Scrooge!  Someday you’ll choke on one of those plums and no one will step forward to give you the Heimlich maneuver!

Ebenezer:  Uh huh.  Listen, I’m going to go watch Ghost Hunters International now.  You coming?

GOCP:  Yeah.

Charles Dicken's the Ghost of Christmas Past by Linda Vernon Humor

Until next time . . . I love you

 

 

 

 

 

A Very ‘OMG!! Shut the Hell Up, Girlfriend!’ Christmas!

Merry Christmas Dear Readers and welcome to the very first day of the five days of Blog Festivus 2013.  For Blog Festivus 2013,  I’ll be posting a 200-word Christmas story every day this week based on Charles Dickens Christmas Carol.   For more details, pop over to Blogdramedy and  read all about it!

A Very ‘OMG!! Shut the Hell Up, Girlfriend!‘ Christmas!

OMG!! Shut the hell up, girlfriend!  Did I hear you correctly?  You’re telling me my boyfriend, Ebenezer Scrooge, is getting me a Christmas gift this year? The original Mr. Cheapskate? What’s that?  You have it on good authority!  Why that adorable, darling, wonderful Neezy! Who knew he was such a sweetheart?  OMG!! I just thought of something, girlfriend!  OMG!! It’s an engagement ring, isn’t it, girlfriend?  OMG!! What’s that?  You can’t tell me?  Shut the hell up, girlfriend, of course you can!  OMG!! I promise I won’t spill the beans.  Ebenezer’s not home now anyways.   He’s over at some relative’s house duct taping somebody’s crutch back together.  Who’s crutch? Oh, I don’t know, someone named Tiny Tim, I think.  Ebenezer broke it trying to fish a penny out of a storm drain!  They wanted him to pay for it?  Can you imagine my Neezy paying for anything? What’s that?  No.  I don’t know why they call him Tiny Tim.  Maybe he’s a midget or something. Who cares?  I’m getting engaged!  OMG!! What’s that?  Yes, I know you didn’t say it was an engagement ring.  But shut the hell up, girlfriend!  It’s an engagement ring!! OMG!!

"What?  An engagement right for Moi?  Shut the hell up, girlfriend!"
“What? An engagement right for moi? Shut the hell up, girlfriend!”

Until next time . . . I love you

My Brain, Peanuts, Thinks Up a Magazine

Welcome Dear Readers!  Well it’s time to play a little game my brain, Peanuts, enjoys called splicing together magazines to come up with completely new ones.

Today Peanuts took Box Office Magazine:

box office magazine 

And combined it with this technology magazine, Red Herring:

Red Herring

And Viola!

Peanuts presents:  Boring Magazine

Boring Magazine - By Linda Vernon Humor

And there you have it, Dear Readers!  Boring Magazine!

Until next time . . . I love you

Take the Very First Linda Vernon Humor Poll

Here’s something this blog’s never done before.  A poll!  I’m not sure how to do it, Dear Readers, but I’m willing to give it the ol’ half-hearted, Linda Vernon college drop out try!!

Okay I’m looking around my desk for something to take a poll about.  Oh here’s something:

This man is . . . 

Linda Vernon Humor Quiz

Hey that was fun.  Let’s do another one, wanna?

This man is . . . .

Cheesey ad for flab

And these men are . . . 

Two men doing marshal arts

And, finally, this man is . . . 

man with perfect confidence

And there you have it, Dear Readers!  I hope you had fun taking this blog’s very first poll! Now to celebrate!  Let’s all go find that banana and eat it shall we?

Until next time . . . I love you, are you kidding?  Don’t make me laugh!

A Conversation with My Husband, 37

I’m not afraid of much, Dear Readers.

Spiders don’t scare me.  Clowns don’t scare me. Medical procedures don’t scare me.  (Heck, I’ve even been known to get  major surgery while totally sound asleep!)

I am, however, afraid of needles.  Not the kind that give you shots.  No. I’m afraid of the needles at the end of sewing machines.

Boy oh boy does my sewing suck!

You see, I’m a horrible sewer.  (No, no not the kind of sewer than needs Roto-Rooter, I mean the kind of sewer who sews — but I’d probably be a horrible sewer too now that I think about it.)

Oh how I wish I could sew!   If I could sew, I would sew myself a killer wardrobe where everything I made would make me appear 15 pounds thinner, 20 years younger and upwards of  50  I. Q. points smarter.

It’s not like I haven’t tried to sew

Once, when my daughter was seven, she had a little friend over while I was sewing myself a pair of pants.  I had just finished sewing in the elastic waistband and was feeling rather proud of myself when my daughter’s seven-year-0ld friend glanced over from across the room and innocently asked me why I was sewing a waistband in the bottom of one pant leg.

I quickly pulled the pants out from under the needle, held them up and sure enough the little brat was right.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not a complete idiot just an unfinished one.

I suspect my sewing problem stems from my inability to be able to correctly distinguish  right from left.  Oh sure,  I can tell right from left — trouble is I’m only correct 50 percent of the time.

Frankly, I don’t understand people who can differentiate between right from left easily.  And it seems like these Left-from- Right Geniuses like to flaunt their god-given talent  in the face of those poor souls, such as myself, who consider themselves rather intelligent, overall, if you don’t count a major dumb streak punctuated by pockets of stupidity here and there.

My engineer-husband, 37, takes great delight in vexing me about my dyslexic tendencies:

37:  Honey, can you hand me my pocket protector? It’s in the right-hand desk drawer.

Me:  Okay, sure.  Wait . . .  it’s not in here.

37:  Yes it is.

Me:  No it’s not.

37:  That’s because you need to look on the right desk drawer instead of the left desk drawer.

Me:  But I am looking in the left drawer and it’s not in here!

37:  No, I didn’t mean YOUR right, I meant MY right which would make it YOUR left. So YOUR left is actually MY right so you need to look in the other drawer than the one you’re looking in.

Me:  Oh get your own *#@!# pocket protector!

Or  let’s say 37  is giving me directions to someone’s house over the phone:

Me:  What side of the street is their house on?

37:  Well that depends.  Are you going east or west?

Me:  East or west?  How would I know? Just tell me what side of the street it’s on!

37:   It’s on the RIGHT side of the street.

Me:  Ok, great, thanks.

37:  If . . . .

Me:  If what?

37:  If you’re heading east, that is.

Me:  I don’t know what direction I’m heading.

37:  Well that’s easy to tell.  If your going East, the shopping center will be on your left.

Me:  It’s not on my left.

37:  Not YOUR left! MY left!

It’s times like this when I want to get out my sewing machine and sew an elastic waistband into 37’s shirt collar.  Then slowly tighten it to MY left HIS right MY East and HIS West.

You’ll have to excuse me now, Dear Readers, I have some sewing to do.

Until next time . . . I love you

Ten Signs You Overdid Thanksgiving!

Welcome Dear Readers!! First I want to thank you all for  the lovely comments you’ve been kind enough to leave on my blog this past week.  I haven’t had a chance to respond to them as yet as I  have two new grand babies staying over Thanksgiving, and I have to get my adorable fix in while the gettin’s good! 

Now for today’s post:

Ten Signs You Overdid Thanksgiving

It’s been a couple of days since you’ve seen any of your pets.

The only thing you own that fits comfortably now is your trampoline.

You’ve worn your teeth down to such a degree that now they can only be described as “implied.”

You’re experiencing eater’s remorse over not taking the pies out of the pans before scarfing them down.

It’s official!  As of this morning, you are now storing the leftovers for every refrigerator within walking distance in your very own stomach.

You have to use sign language when you want to communicate because your tongue collapsed from exhaustion.

You cried yourself to sleep last night because you fear there may never again be room for Jello.

You have decided to replace the lion in your family crest with the more appropriate symbolism of the fatest person on earth.

You can now go through the rest of your life secure in the knowledge that nothing is too big for you to swallow.

And the Number One sign you ate too much at Thanksgiving Dinner:

Instead of crying tears of joy, you are now crying gravy of joy.

 

Until next time . . . I love you

Friday Fictioneers: Life at the End of a Styrofoam Cup

Welcome Dear Readers and Friday Fictioneers!  Well tomorrow’s Thanksgiving and what better way to prepare a huge feast for a house full of turkey gobblers than to write a 100-word appetizer.

Here’s the  picture Rochelle over at Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple  has provided for this week’s Firday Fictioneer shenanigans.

Copyright - Ted Strutz
Copyright – Ted Strutz

 Life on the End of a Styrofoam Cup

Captain Crimony steers the ferryboat with his boot and expertly sips his Irish coffee through a Styrofoam cup he holds between his teeth and plays solitaire.

Thus, Captain Crimony plows through the murky waters of Puget Sound like a willful child plows through a slab of wet cement, day in and day out.

One day, Captain Crimony hits an oil tanker.

Now, Captain Crimony sits on his couch, and expertly sips his Irish coffee in a Styrofoam cup he holds between his teeth, and plays solitaire.

Thus, he awaits  his disability checks, day in and day out.

* * *

Until next time . . . I love you