AARP: Making Getting Old and Dying FUN!

Welcome Dear Readers.  Good News!  We’re going to get old!  We’re going to die! And it’s going to be so much frigging  FUN!

And all because of AARP.  Everybody’s “Getting Old and Dying” BFF!

 In fact!  I think we should click on The Stars and Stripes Forever before we continue and take a moment  to celebrate this inevitability, not only in our hearts, but also,  in our ears as well  because, after all,  the word “hear” is just the word “heart” without the “t’.

Are you ready for the “Getting Old and Dying” AARP  good news?

Before we continue, I have to issue a word of caution:  Those of you who AARP has pegged as  “getting old and dying” need to be warned that AARP is pretty sure  this news is going to blow your orthopedic socks off your crippled, bunion-covered feet!

 The Drumroll Please!

Anybody have a kleenex?
That’s right, Dear Readers, I’ve been approved for AARP  Life Insurance! That means they are giving me permission to die any time now and/or at my earliest convenience!  Talk about a cause for whoopin’ it up!!

I don’t know how the Vernon Family will celebrate getting money from my AARP Whole Life Insurance once I’m dead, but I kind of hope it’s with a Hootenanny or at the very least a HootenGranny.  (Sorry for the bad joke, I’m old, I’m going to die and my bunions are killing me!)

But wait!  There’s more!   Included in this AARP Life Insurance offer is this inexplicable AARP Medicare Supplement Plan Brochure:

Linda Vernon Humor AARP Send up
Huh?

I don’t know what to make of this, Dear Readers.   Why do these two people represent a team?  And why are they playing softball with a grapefruit?

Oh!  Perhaps  AARP is just messing with my pre-posthumous synapses yet again? (Oh that AARP, always with the jokes! Hahaha!)

Oh wait . . . maybe the two people represent an Ebony and Ivory thing!  That would be apropos, I suppose, because, I don’t know about you, Dear Readers, but the song Ebony and Ivory, does make me want to die.

Now don’t worry  if you are having trouble wrapping your posthumous-synapsed brain around any of the AARP’s “Growing Old and Dying” money-making offers.  They’ve anticipated your confusion and have provided a solution:

AARP Offers help to potential customers

Now doesn’t that sound like fun?  In fact,  I think you’ll have to agree that nobody puts the FUN in Funeral like AARP, nobody!

Until next time . . . I love you

Friday Fictioneers: Trust Me, Meredith!

Welcome, Dear Readers!  Today in this blog’s little neck of the woods, we shall  see if we can make up a story that’s not too big and not too little but just right!

It’s time for the 100-word, Friday Fictioneer’s weekly writing challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple and the three bears.

This week’s picture porridge was provided to us  by Roger Bultot.  

copyright-roger-bultot
copyright-roger-bultot

Trust Me, Meredith

Howard, don’t you think we should hire professionals to put in the pool?

Why?

You’ve never operated a bulldozer before.

I worked for Uncle Vinnie, and he owned a bulldozer!

But Howard, you were just mowing his lawn.

It’s the garage isn’t it, Meredith?  The one time I park the car in the garage without opening the door first, and you never let me forget it.

And the sprinklers.

What?  You’re bringing that up again?  I only drove next door!

But through the front yard.

You need to trust me more, Meredith.

Okay, Okay.  Go fire up the bulldozer, Howard.

* * *

Until next time . . . I love you

My Brain Peanuts Remembers: My Mother Janey

Hello Dear Readers and welcome to my brain, Peanuts remembers. Today’s topic is my mother, Janey.

Janey - Copy
My Mom Janey

Janey was a Fainter

When my mother was  little, my grandparents had a record they would play of a bird singing.  Every time, my mother heard it, she would  pass out by  falling over backwards.

You’d think after the initial discovery, my grandparents wouldn’t have played that record anymore, but people just thought things like that were funny in those days.

Janey and her parents
Here’s my mom with her parents, who apparently weren’t playing the bird song at the moment, anyway, since my mom is upright

Janey also fainted in movie theaters and department stores.  Once when I was in the 8th grade, we were shopping in the Crescent Department Store in downtown Spokane looking at sweaters.  I hadn’t seen my mother for awhile so I thought she was trying on clothes.  Well, it turns out she had fainted and woken up in the manager’s office.

Funny, it never occurred to me until just now that when Janey fainted, the clerks must have drug her into the manager’s office — like in the movies when somebody gets murdered!  (If my mother was alive today, I’d call her up right now with this new revelation!)

Janey had a delicate appetite

One of my mother’s main themes in life was that her appetite was easily ruined.   Any number of things could occur in which Janey could lose her appetite, not the least of which being unpleasant conversational topics at the dinner table, as well as having to observe someone (such as one of her kids) not using good  table manners.

One never knew  exactly what would set off  Janey’s “loss of appetite” but looking back on it now,  she never seemed to equate it with the case of Nestle Crunches she always kept on the top shelf of the cupboard and that she was always nibbling on — as being a factor in her  “loss of appetite.”

The only thing standing between my mother and starvation!
The only thing standing between my mother and starvation!

The time Janey was a trooper

Janey was never big on water sports, but one summer Janey bucked up and decided to try her hand at water skiing behind my dad’s new fishing boat.

His boat  had a weak outboard motor that was about as powerful as a sick kitten.  It barely managed to pull a child up out of the water on skis, let alone an adult.

But for some reason, Janey, who had never been much into water sports decided to try water skiing.  We were all a little shocked when she suggested it, as we had never see her swim without keeping her hair from getting wet, but try she did.

Stand back! Janey’s going in!

She slipped right into the water, oblivious to the fact that she could ruin her hairdo  as well as  smudge her fire-engine red lipstick.  My brother, Peter,  helped her position herself in the water with her skis.  When she was finally ready,  Peter gave the signal and my dad gunned it as it were.

But instead of popping Janey up  out of the water, the boat pulled her  along underneath the water.

I’ll never forget the image of Janey’s fire-engine red lipstick shimmering from beneath that green wake of water  that was pouring over the top of her head.

But still,  she  hung on for dear life.  And she hung on and she hung on until finally a miracle occurred!  She suddenly popped up from beneath the water, and proceeded to water ski in a big circle around Williams Lake — albeit in a squatting position, but still!  

Janey was water skiing! Hurray!

I hope it’s true what they say about your whole life flashing before you eyes when you die.  Because I do so want to see that part again, Dear Readers!

Until next time . . . I love you

Janey
Janey? Is that you?

33-Word Trifecta Challenge: An Ironic Twist of Fate

Welcome Dear Readers!  This weekend’s Trifecta Challenge is to write a 33-word story using the word tooth.

An Ironic Twist of Fate

Let’s climb Mount Everest, Floss!

No way, Tooth!

Why?

Moi?  Dental Floss?  Climbing?

But you’ll be between a rock and a hard place . . .

Oh, I love that, Tooth!

Tell me about it, Floss!

Edmund Hillary Reaches Summitt - Copy

* * *

Until next time . . . I love you

Road Tripping with My Brain, Peanuts

Linda Vernon Humor, humorous commentary about granny taking a road trip

Dear Readers Welcome! I am happy to report I actually made it home safely from my road trip on the freeways of this great state of California, the longest state in our great  nation, mind you, — where I spent four wonderful days visiting my daughter Jackie, her husband, Tyler, and my new grandson, Henry.

Peanuts gets worried

Of course, driving there,  Dear Readers,  took a tad bit longer than it should have due to the fact that I had to go 45 minutes at 40 mph before I could get my nerve up to pass a semi that seemed to my brain, Peanuts, anyway that it was driving recklessly.

The Menace of Rest Stop Pigs

Of course,  my brain, Peanuts, the crazy story maker upper,  had the truck driver  pegged as a legally-blind, drunken serial killer/truck driver on crack who was texting his friend waiting at the rest stop up ahead  to see if there were any Little Old Lady Granny-Types, such as myself,  that he could  murder and chop up into a million little pieces and feed to the pigs.

I know it’s a preposterous thought, Dear Readers, I have to laugh actually, because I’ve never seen any  pigs at rest stops.

Rest stop?  Or Treasure Map to Murder?
Rest Stop? Or Treasure Map to Murder?

Restrooms, Restrooms Everywhere and Not a One to Use

Still, I didn’t stop even though I needed to use the restroom. I decided, instead,  to stop somewhere in  King City which the sign said was only 27 miles away.

It was at that point I entered the Twilight zone where the forward motion of my car was just an illusion wherein an evil force was pulling the road underneath me like a treadmill and  causing me to quit making any forward progress.  Here’s what the road signs kept saying:

27  miles to  King City 

45 minutes later:

11 miles to king City

40 minutes later:

3 miles to King City

a half an hour later:

You just passed King City

Carl Jr. Saves Me From Kidnapping Gypsies

I’m happy to report, however,  that I finally found an easy exit with a Carl Jr’s to stop at.   I pulled in to park  and just then a white van pulled up next to me, the doors flew open and lo and behold!

It was  chalk-full  of  gypsies!

Peanuts assumed this because the women were wearing long black dresses with gold bric-a-brac sewn to them accessorized by lots of dangling gold jewelry.

And they were clearly speaking a language that sounded very much like not English!

My Last Meal Pro-active-ness

As I was walking into Carl Jr., the gypsy driving the van and his cohort got out and stood next to my car.  I heard them chatting about something and even though  I couldn’t understand what they were saying,  Peanuts thought whatever it was had a definite “untoward” ring to it.

Where you goin' Little Old Lady Granny-Type?   "ttthhhrrrrrinnnngggg"
Where you goin’ Little Old Lady Granny-Type, such as yourself?  . . .Thwannngggg . . . 

My brain, Peanuts, started making up a story about how they were a roving band of gypsies, tramps and thieves — as the lyrics to the Cher’s song,  Gypsies, Tramps and Thievess is the only thing Peanuts  knows about gypsies.

I would say all the gypsies looked just like this only they really didn't.
World Renowned Gypsy Expert

Peanuts started thinking that maybe the Gypsies were in cahoots with the crack truck driver/serial killer, and that they were out looking for Little Old Lady Granny-Types , such as myself, and well . . . . well, never mind about the “well.”

The Final Gulp

So when I got into Carl Jr.s and looked back to see them still standing by my car — even though I wasn’t the least bit hungry — I went ahead and ordered the  Orange Cream Hand-Scooped  Milkshake because I thought it would be a fitting last meal.

If one were forced to eat  one’s last meal at Carl Jr., that is.

Orange Cream Carl Jr. Hand Scooped Milkshake
Good, but not that good.

The One-Piece Arrival

Anyway, Dear Readers,  you’ll be happy to know that  in the end I made it home safely.

And I must say!  I’ve got a new lease on life!    After all, it’s not everyday, one is spared from death by not being kidnapped by Gypsies and cut up into a million little  pieces by a legally-blind, drunken serial killer/truck driver on crack and fed to rest stop pigs!

Proving once again, Dear Readers,  that it truly is the little things that make life worth living.

Until next time . . . I love you

3 A.M. — The Funniest Hour of the Day

Welcome Dear Readers! I woke up in the middle of the night and was writing my blog in my head. The only line I can remember now went something like:

Daddy is a Friggin’ Genius and Mama Ain’t no Slouch

Of course, at 3 am in the dark this phrase seemed a lot funnier.
Peanuts thought it was hilarious. (Peanuts being my brain’s nickname for itself). I must admit that Peanuts is usually funnier when asleep. Here’s another line Peanuts came up with while sleeping:

Goats on the Skids

I thought maybe I could make this the title of a novel about a group of fun-loving goats who had fallen on hard economic times. I plan to run it by Peanuts next time I’m asleep.

I remember once reading about how you can program your subconscious mind to solve problems for you if you pose a question for it just before drifting off. So one night I asked Peanuts if it would be kind enough to think of a way I could make a million dollars. I fell asleep and dreamed about a new invention:

The underwater bicycle

Which proves two things:

1) You really can program you’re subconscious mind
2) to come up with a lot of stupid ideas.

Of course, my family is never ever ever going to quit teasing me about The Underwater Bicycle idea. Fine. It’s well worth the ribbing if it will keep them occupied and off the streets for another day.

I also hold the family record for making the lamest joke in the history of the Vernon Family. We were driving on a steep, winding road near Yosemite and we met a couple of gray-haired guys in a Model A going the other way. So I quipped: “Hope your brakes hold there, Joe.” OK, maybe it wasn’t a quip as such, but hey — at least I tried.

Somebody had to say something for heaven sakes! Can I help it if Peanuts hadn’t thought up “Goats on the Skids” yet?

Until next time . . . I love you

Manifesting Fingernail Files

Welcome Dear Readers. Since I’m going to be on a vacation for the next couple of days, I’ll be fishing some things out of the archives for you.

Manifesting

I don’t know if I’m doing something right or if I’m doing something wrong when it comes to manifesting.

For instance, I am a recently converted White Cake Fanatic, and I am always in search of my next wonderfully delicious piece of white cake with white frosting.

Today when I got done getting my back adjusted at the chiropractor’s office, I was offered and accepted a piece of the most delicious white cake I’ve ever had.

It was so good, it was worth putting my back out for.  So that should tell you something (I’m not sure what, but if you find out e-mail me).

Being offered white cake unexpectedly like that made me think that maybe I actually manifested it.  Or at least my inner sweet tooth did.  Which is wonderful and thank you, Universe (Uni) for arranging that.

Then there was the manifestation that happened the other day.  37, (my husband) and I were both in need of a fingernail file.

Of course, there wasn’t a single one to be found so I made a mental note to buy some next time I was out.

I don’t know why I bother making mental notes at all since  my mental note system is horribly flawed. I think Peanuts, my brain, must be filing  my mental notes using the Dewey Decimal System — which I have always found unnecessarily confusing.

But anyway, the good news is that it turns out I didn’t need my mental note anyway, because I completely manifested a fingernail file all by myself!

For you see within the pages of this 1936 Wear-Ever new method of Cooking booklet I found at the thrift store THE VERY NEXT DAY was a . . . well guess . . . .go ahead guess!

Okay, never mind I’ll tell you. 

A fingernail file!  I kid you not (mainly because I don’t even know who you are).

It happened while I was showing 37 the1936 Wear-Ever Cook booklet — and I was pointing out how it looked more like a 1960’s booklet rather than one from 1936, because it was turquoise and space-agey.  I should know, as I consider myself a fake expert on the subject.

37 was listening and  pretending to be interested when . . . well sir, right then and there in the center of the booklet was a fingernail file! 

(I was even going to end that sentence with three exclamation points but when all is said and done it was only a fingernail file after all — manifested or no.)

Aren’t you absolutely floored that I managed to manifest that fingernail file so quickly and without even really trying? I know! Me too!

Of course, I would have been a teensy more excited about manifesting it, if it didn’t make me slightly sick to my stomach to find a fingernail file in a cookbook.  But still . . . I’m manifesting stuff aren’t I?  And that’s the important thing.

Until next time. . . I love you

My Brain Peanuts Red Alert!!

My Brain, Peanuts, Red Alert!!!

Warning! Warning! Warning!

Errrrr! Errrrr! Errrrr!

Dear Readers, This is a 7-Points Bulletin!

If you are traveling in state of  California on freeway 101 today, anywhere between San Francisco and Los Angeles going north or south, east or west BEWARE!

Traffic may be unusually slow, possibly backed up for hours due to a Little Old Lady Granny Driver operating under the often misguided direction of her brain, Peanuts, who is going on a road trip to visit her daughter, Jackie’s family and her new grandson, Henry!

Jackie and Henry
Jackie and Henry

 

Be on the look out for and steer clear of the following:

1)

Any woman who looks old enough to receive AARP  and pre-paid cremation opportunities in her  junk mail —  and who is  traveling south (God willing, but possibly north if her brain, Peanuts,  freaks and takes the wrong exit) in a little blue car with a bumper sticker that says:  What Happens at Grandmas, Stays at Grandmas.

2)

Should you be unlucky enough to  come up behind Granny, tailgate at your own risk — as she will turn on her windshield cleaner spray (she’s not as nice as she looks) and pretend for all the world like she is simply getting the bugs off her windshield, but in reality is passively aggressively getting your windshield wet on purpose in an attempt to punish you for not driving as safely as she thinks you should.

3)

Should she suddenly slam on her brakes in the middle of the freeway, do not be alarmed, there is nothing wrong with granny’s car, it will simply mean she was listening to a CD of Herb Albert and the Tijuana brass and her brain, Peanuts, mistook one of trumpet solos for the horn of an alarmed motorist.

4)

Granny will no doubt be traveling in the slow lane, wedged between two trucks — either because she is too afraid to change lanes or because she is pretending she is in a convoy again. Probably both.

5)

If you should see this woman driving around the mean streets of some drug n’ thug neighborhood in any town between San Francisco and Los Angeles, it will not mean that Granny is trying to “score” some illegal substances.  It will simply mean that, once again, her brain, Peanuts, picked the worst possible exit to try to find a restroom.

6)

Four or five hours into the trip you may see granny pulled over to the side of the road being issued a speeding ticket. This will mean her brain, Peanuts, finally became so desensitized and bored with driving on the freeway that her brain, Peanuts, only noticed the number 88 on her speedometer when she saw the flashing red light tailgating her.

7)

Let’s just hope and pray her brain, Peanuts, had enough sense not to turn on the windshield cleaner spray!

Ny Brain Peanuts
Beware of my brain, Peanuts, behind the wheel!

Until next time . . . I love you

Trifecta 33-Word Challenge: Real Housewives of Plato’s Utopia

Welcome Dear Readers!  Well here we are at the weekend Trifecta Challenge.  This weekend we are asked to write a 33-word story inspired by the picture below:

Real Housewives of Plato’s Utopia

another-head-hangs-lowly-2_l
[ changó ] / Foter / CC BY-NC-ND
There’s Glaucon! Hi Gluacon! Love you!

He’s such a phonie!

I hate phonies!

Me too!

This puppet show is full of them.

I know!

I like your orange tan!

I like yours too!

Real Housewives of Platos Utopia

Until next time . . . I love you

My Brain, Peanuts, Remembers: Don’t Mention the Meteorite!

It all started with the Plaza Theater 

I grew up in a very small town with a population of 1,010 people.  Downtown we had three grocery stores, a drugstore, a variety store, a barber shop, a hardware store and a restaurant as well as a movie theater, called The Plaza, that showed outdated movies on Friday and Saturday nights.

The Plaza Theater Waitsburg Washington
The Plaza, where all my nightmares began

And it is the Plaza Theater, Dear Readers, that I hold directly responsible for all the childhood fears I had — which were as follows:

1)  Falling into Quicksand  

In 50’s movies, people were constantly falling into quicksand.  Consequently, any second grader worth his weight in elementary-school rubber cement could tell you that if you fell into quicksand, never, ever struggle.  You will only sink faster.  And while this seemed like important information at the time, it never really panned out as being useful in the long run.

"Stop moving!" I'm not moving, I'm just making a face!" "Stop making a face, you'll just sink faster!"
“Stop moving! You’ll sink faster!”
I’m not moving, I’m just making a face!”
“Stop making a face, you’ll just sink faster!”

2)  Contracting Leprosy

I suffered from eczema as a kid, which might be why contracting Leprosy was a huge fear of mine. After watching the horror that Ben Hur’s sister and mom had to go through when they ended up with leprosy, well, I lived in constant fear of getting Leprosy and having to be sent away from home to live in a leper colony — even if it was in the beautiful Hawaiian islands.  This was before Hawaii was a state.  (Note to self: Jeez I’m old!)

Linda Vernon Humor, My Brian Peanuts Remembers
“Stop making a face, you’re just going to make it spread faster.”
“I’m not making a face.”
“Yes you are.”
“No!  I’m smiling, you wanna to see?”
“Oh good heavens, NO!”

3) Falling into the Alice and Wonderland Hole

I thought Alice in Wonderland was horribly scary complicated by the fact that Alice was a complete air-head who didn’t seem to be bothered at all by the fact that she had fallen into a deep, dark hole populated by drug-crazed weirdos in a nightmarish world of high strangeness. This troubled me deeply.

Alice didn’t even have the sense to worry about getting back home. Oh no! Instead, her overriding concern was finding a bunny with a pocket watch.  I had to ask myself why?  And I”m sorry to say my question fell on deaf bunny ears, Dear Readers.

"Plus her air-head was too big for her body!"
Alice’s air-head was too big for her body

Anyway, after seeing Alice in Wonderland, I became seriously worried about falling into the Alice and Wonderland hole.  And for awhile there, my mother had to check out my room to make sure it was Alice-in-Wonderland-hole-free before I’d go to bed.

4)  Being Pulled Underground by Aliens

I remember watching a horribly scary 50’s sci-fi movie about people who would just be walking along, minding their own business, when suddenly, the earth would open up and an alien would reach up and grab onto their legs and pull them down into their underground base (that no doubt led to the Alice and Wonderland hole).  In the 50’s, this movie chilled the bones of the second-grade, movie-going public of which I was, unfortunately, a terrified member.

"You want me to stop at the store and get a loaf and a can of tuna . . . got it . . . Oh and honey, I'm going to be a little late, I've got one thing left in my in basket and then I'll be home."
” . . . a loaf of bread, a quart of milk and a big juicy second-grader. Okay, honey, got it . . . I’ve only got one thing left  in my in-basket and then I’ll be home.”

The Strangest Day of All

Here’s a strange incident from my childhood for which I blame my imagination in conjunction with the Plaza Theater movies I watched.

In second grade, Becky Kenny invited me to come over to her house after school. I got to ride the school bus which I remember looking forward to with excitement.

"Yay!  We get to ride on a rollar coaster." "No it's a school bus, Linda." "Who cares?  It's gonna be F. U.N.
“Yay! We get to ride on a roller coaster!”
“No it’s a school bus, Linda.”
“Who cares? It’s gonna be F.U.N.”

Somehow, I got the idea that a meteorite had gone through the roof of Becky’s house the night before. But that I was under no circumstances to mention this knowledge because the Kenny’s didn’t think anyone else knew about it and didn’t want anyone to find out for some reason.

"Hey!  Where're we goin'?" Becky Kenny's house, but mums the word!"
“Hey! Where’re we goin’?”
Becky Kenny’s house, but mums the word!”

So we rode the school bus out to Becky’s house.  When we got close to her stop, Becky stood up and so did I, but the bus driver slammed on his brakes so hard  that Becky lost her footing and slid nearly the full length of the bus — under all the bus seats — and came to a stop neatly beside the bus driver.

I didn’t say anything, Becky didn’t say anything and the bus driver didn’t say anything.

We got off the bus and Becky’s mom met us at the front door to warn us not to go upstairs.  Of course, I knew why.  It was because of the meteorite, naturally.

And there you have it, Dear Readers, I hope you enjoyed the very first installment of My Brain, Peanuts Remembers.

Until next time . . . I love you (and whatever you do don’t mention the meteorite!)

Friday Fictioneers: The Trouble with Little Poindexter

Welcome Dear Readers!  In, this, The Golden Age of Blogging, another day means another story. And so, let us now turn our attention to this weird and wonderful picture of a giant bee provided as a story prompt for the weekly Friday Fictioneers 100-word story writing challenge.

Friday Fictioneers Linda Vernon Humor

If you look closely behind the bee’s left foot, you can barely make out Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, our Friday Fictioneers’ hostess, sewing us some Official Friday Fictioneer Uniforms!   She’s still having a little trouble with those French cuffs. But she’s doing her best so please everyone stop nagging her!

Until then, Rochelle says we should write a 100-word story about the giant bee picture provided courtesy of Jennifer Pendagast at Elmowrites.

The Trouble with Little Poindexter

I’m worried about our little Poindexter, Arthur.

You worry too much, Martha.

 But Poindexter’s so different from other children, Arthur.

Different  how?

He’s big for his age, and he only eats pollen.  And then there’s his–

His what?

Well none of the other children have antennas, Arthur!

Are you saying he’s a freak?

No, no of course not!  It’s just that . . .

That what?

Well today he stung one of his classmates and had to stay after class.

Did you have a talk with him?

I tried to.

And?

He told me to buzz off.

And there you have it, Dear Readers.  I’m happy to say this story passed the finish line at exactly 100 words.

Until next time . . . I love you

33-Word Trifecta Writing Challenge: Shades of Clayton

Welcome Dear Readers!  This weekend’s 33-word Trifecta Writing Challenge is as follows:  Give us a thirty-three word piece that has a color in it. Use the color to describe anything you like, or use anything you like to describe your color, but keep it creative and keep it short. 

I chose this colorful picture of my grandson, Clayton, to write about today.

colors!

Shades of Clayton

Propeller’s blue, steering’s green

With shades of Mickey in-between

Here’s a fellow, who likes yellow

A mellow little yellow fellow

But his pants this poem will sabotage

Cause there ain’t no color camouflage

My Brain, Peanuts, Notices Some Little Things

Hello Dear Readers and welcome!  Before we go kicking and screaming (in a good way) into the weekend, I thought it would be fun to share with you some random things that crossed the path of my brain, Peanuts.

  You want me to throw what in where?

 

Someone stuck a sign on the trash can outside my grocery store directing passersby to only throw “trash” into it.

Apparently so many people have been throwing stuff in there that’s not trash, the grocery store employees were unable to get any work done so they had to make a sign for the trash can that says “Trash.”

Well who can blame them?  They are probably sick and tired of people throwing away bag after bag of perfectly good cash or bag after bag of perfectly good puppies or bag after bag of perfectly good babies.

These people have work to do people!

And their job descriptions do not include fishing large amounts of cash and/or puppies or the occasional baby out of the trash all the live-long day!  Do you mind?

 Now that’s the attitood I like to sea!

Here’s a nice little sign I saw while waiting in line at Fresh Choice. As you can see, they offer salads to go Mon – Fry only.  You’ll also notice they are offering their customers a special as well, but they are being kind of crabby about it.  The sign tells us it’s $4.99 Salad Bar Only but it sort of feels like what they really wanted to say was $4.99 Salad Bar Only You Stupid Idiot.

Here’s bit of wonderful news from junk mail:

Now that’s a handy piece of news from the National Association for Continence!  I am totally amazed that two out of three people with bladder control symptoms (and what symptoms are those? . . .  well, we can guess can’t we?)  don’t do ANYTHING about it — which means . . . well, let’s not think about.

I am more amazed, however, that there is actually someone walking around right this very minute with a business card that reads:

National Association for Continence, Managing Director

Which proves, once again, Dear Readers, that it’s the little things that make life worth living! Have a wonderful weekend!

Until next time . . . I love you

Friday Fictioneers: Fly Like a Butterfly, Sting Like a Bee

Welcome Dear Readers!  My philosophy of life can be summed up by Lou Grant from the old Mary Tyler Moore show when he said, “You’re born, you die and everything in between is filler.” 

And I can’t think of a more fun “filler” than writing a hundred words inspired by  Friday Fictioneers  picture prompt hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields at Addicted to Purple.

This week’s picture is provided by Douglas M. McIlroy over at Ironwoodwind.

maui-from-mauna-kea

Fly like a Butterfly, Sting Like a Bee  

 If I had an apparatus

To keep me in the misty stratus

If I could hang out in the air

With the billowy things that live up there

 I think, at first, it would be fun

I’d be best friends with everyone

I’d say I like you!  Yes I do!

You are my best friends, brave and true

But then before my very eyes

You’d change into some apple pies

You’d switch it up

 (You’d be so wiley)

You’re Cher! . . .  No wait! . . . Charles Nelson Riley?

 Who could keep up? Who could cope?

I’d become Muhammad’s rope a dope

* * * 

Until next time . . . I love you