Gregory’s Vacation Bible School: Jesus and the Pool at Bethesda

Welcome Dear Readers to this Sunday’s Edition of the Gregory’s Bible Stories! This week Gregory is still away a Vacation Bible School  learning about biblical swimming pools. 

Jesus and the Pool of Bethesda

It was time for the Annual Jews and Sabbath Potluck dinner and Jesus (who always got invited to everything) decided to attend.  Nobody knows what dish Jesus typically brought to these things, but chances are he just whipped up something Johnny on the spot.

Anyway, in order to get to the potluck, Jesus had to pass by the Jerusalem Sheep Gate behind which the sheep who were going to be sacrificed lived.

In biblical days people were cruel to sheep and kept them for the express purpose of killing and sacrificing them.  Unlike today, where people only keep sheep for the express purpose of killing and eating them.

While Jesus was walking past the Jerusalem Sheep Gate, he happened to look over and right next to the sheep gate was the Bethesda Memorial Healing Pool.  The pool had five porches upon which lay a lot of unhealthy people waiting to take a dip.

Some of the people were blind, some of the people were paralyzed and some of the people had a really bad case of eczema (sometimes called Leprosy).

This might be a good time to explain that the Bethesda Memorial Pool could cure disease if (and that’s a big if) you were lucky enough to be the first person to jump in the water after a heavenly angel would pop down and stir it with a Heavenly Egg Beater.

After that, the first person to jump in would get healed and everybody else was up the Bethesda Pool without a paddle until the angel with the Heavenly Egg Beater made another visit.

One man had been waiting in line to jump in the water for 38 years.  (It’s not as bad as it sounds because he was waiting in line while lying on his bed.)  Jesus saw him he asked, “Do you want to get well?”

The man answered something to the  effect that yes he did but he was too paralyzed to be the first one in the pool after the Heavenly Egg Beating.

So Jesus just cut to the chase and said to the man, “Get up, pick up your bed and walk.”

Jesus curing my by Bathesda Pool
“Get up, pick up your bed and walk.”
“Uh . . . are you sure, that’s not going to wreck my back? I’ve been laying down for 38 years.”

Now Jesus was telling the man to pick up his bed and walk, and this was a task that was considered work which was completely against the law on the Sabbath.

And sure enough, first thing Monday morning, the cured man was in deep trouble with the authorities for aimlessly wandering around carrying his bed on the Sabbath. (After 38 years laying by the pool, he couldn’t remember where he lived).

Authorities:  Who told you to carry your bed around on the Sabbath? You’re supposed to be resting.

Cured Man:  Sorry, I don’t remember his name . . . I’m terrible with names. I never forget a face though! 

Later that day while the cured man was praying in the temple (probably for directions back home), Jesus recognized him and said:

“Listen, you are well now, so stop sinning or something worse may happen to you.”

Jesus must have been wearing his monogrammed robe because the cured man ran right to the authorities and told them the guy who cured him was named Jesus.

So the authorities hightailed it over to Jesus and demanded that Jesus explain to them why He had worked a healing on the Sabbath.

Jesus answered by saying, “My father is always working and I too must work.”

This really made the authorities mad.  Aside from thinking that Jesus and His Dad were Sabbath workaholics; they were also completely put off by the fact that Jesus said his Dad was God.

Naturally this made the authorities want to persecute and  kill Jesus even more than they already did.

And the cured man who was wandering around carrying his bed on the Sabbath?   Rumor has it he put his back out from hauling his bed around everywhere and ended up right back at the Bethesda Pool.

Robert Bateman (1836 - 1889) (Artist,
“Hey wait a minute . . . did I grab the wrong egg beater again?”

And there you have it, Dear Readers, I hope you’ll come back next week for another installment of Gregory’s Bible Stories

Until next time . . . I love you

Putting Procrastination to Work for You

Are you one of those people who goes to pay bills but can’t find your letter opener so you search the house for hours until, duh, you finally remember you left it at the neighbor’s house so you dash over to get it and end up sitting down for coffee and then 17 cups later you are on your way back home when you discover that your friend’s ducks are running amok (the very same ducks you said you’d look after while they were on vacation) and by the time you get them under control and lined up into neat little rows it’s  time for bed and you think sadly to yourself that, once again, you accomplished nothing and that none of this would have happened if you had simply used your finger to open the bills?

Welcome to the world of procrastination!

As we all know, procrastination occurs anytime you find yourself thinking up things to do to get out of the things you think you should be doing.

Procrastination always gets a bad rap.  And not just because nothing really rhymes with it, but because people have been conditioned to view the habit of putting off today what they can do tomorrow as an undesirable character trait.

I, for one, am saying pooh pooh to this notion and furthermore, I am going to climb out on a limb and beg to differ. (A little trick I learned in the circus.)

Speaking from personal experience, the act of  tackling a desired task first thing in the morning and then  finishing it before moving on to the next task is futile.

OK, I’ve never actually accomplished anything first thing in the morning, but if I did, I’m sure the only word to describe it would be futile, or failing that, a different word —  which I’ll figure out later (so get off my back about it, will ya?)

My point is this. If Mr. Procrastination has moved in and won’t get off your couch, then by all means put him to work like I do.

For instance, let’s say I want to write an essay.  I simply make that my official goal for the day by jotting it down.  The mere act of jotting down the goal gets my creative juices flowing and, before I know it, I have thought up a million and one other activities to do like mowing the lawn or de-linting my sweaters in order to put off accomplishing writing an essay.

Do you see how simple this is?

Oh sure, maybe I haven’t written that essay, but at least if anyone drives by my house, they won’t catch me standing neck high  in grass wearing a balled-up sweater.

The only downside to using procrastination to get things done is that you have to be happy with accomplishing everything BUT the desired accomplishment.

But this is easily overcome.  With a little practice, a lot of cherry pie, and hours of electronic Solitaire, you’ll be putting the PRO in procrastination before you know it!

Until next time . . . I love you


A Day at the Thrift Store

I finally got around to cleaning out my clutter and
dropping it off at the thrift store yesterday.   Of
course, I just had to go inside and have a quick look
around, Thrift Store Junky that I am.

This was an especially bountiful day at the store.
Forsaken falderal was piled high and wide, and the
atmosphere exuded the same quiet concentration one
might experience while sitting in a room full of
people taking an important exam; which could only mean
one thing.  The Hard Core Collectors were here.

I snapped to attention and quickly grabbed a shopping
cart.  Even though I needed nothing, wanted nothing
and had absolutely no idea what I was looking for,
that didn’t mean I was going to let somebody else get
their hands on it before I did!

Guiding my cart on pure instinct, I tarried not at the
book shelves, by-passed the knick knacks and hardly
acknowledged the exercise equipment.  I was making a
beeline for the shelves marked “collectibles,” when I
suddenly ran head on into another cart operated by a
woman who could best be described as a human Fruit
Loop.  She wore bright blue sweats, tangerine
lipstick, and her ruby-red hair was tucked behind ears
that resembled dried apricots.

Fruit Loop Lady and Her Ilk
We momentarily locked carts. I quickly perused her
cart, and she quickly perused mine.

Atop her mountain of frippery sat a pink, Beanie Baby
Flamingo that had a price tag that said $1.50.  Dang!
I may not be a sophisticated collector, but I was
pretty sure it must have been worth more than that!

I inquired sweetly where she had found the Beanie
Baby.  I kept my voice calm and tried to affect a tone
that conveyed the sentiment that it was not for me but
for my adorable little granddaughter who would dearly
love it for her collection and who, by the way, might
even happen to be blind or something.

Ok, Ok, I don’t actually have any granddaughters, but
she  didn’t know that.  For all she knew I might
have had ten granddaughters, each and every one of them
blind as a bat.

So I was a little put off when she simply glared at
me, shoved her Beanie Baby farther down into her cart
and marched off.   Well! Apparently that dried apricot
thing she had going on extended all the way down to
her heart.

Internal organs of “you know who”
It wasn’t long before I had wormed my way to the
collectibles and spied a set of dishes that were
clearly from the 1950’s atomic era.

They were calling to me in a voice I recognized as Dwight D.
Eisenhower’s.

“Buy those dishes, I implore you!”
The pattern featured boomerangs
intermixed with A-bomb mushroom clouds interspersed
with random dots of nuclear waste.

I simply had to have them!

I rushed to find a clerk who could give me a price.
The woman I found to help me wasn’t technically a
clerk; it seems she was just hanging around the store
in order to burn off a few community service hours,
but she was very friendly and quite helpful all the
same.

And when she said she would let me have the entire
set of dishes for $15, I nearly fell over backwards
onto– guess what? — A huge pile of Beanie Babies.

Needless to say, I acquired the dishes, along with a
few other thrift shop must- haves, and the Community
Service Lady was even kind enough to help me out to my
car with my purchases.  They wouldn’t all fit in the
trunk, but we managed to squeeze the rest of  the
stuff into the back seat.

As I drove away I was filled with an unparalleled
sense of satisfaction and accomplishment.  After all,
there’s really nothing that can compare with finally
getting rid of one’s old, worn out, useless clutter
unless, of course, it’s replacing it with NEW worn out
useless clutter.

Until next time . . . I love you

Gregory’s Bible Stories: Abel’s First-born Lamb Feed

Welcome Dear Readers to this week’s edition of Gregory’s Bible Stories.  Let’s listen in and see what he learned about Adam and Eve’s two boys, Cain and Abel.

Gregory's Bible StoriesAbel’s All You Can Eat First-Born Lamb Feed

After the “incident” with Adam and Eve, the Lord gave each of them hoes as lovely parting gifts and sent them to cultivate the soil just outside the Garden of Eden which they unofficially named Little Eden.  (Luckily, Adam and Eve had eaten enough of the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge to know how to farm,  but were still several bites shy of an Agricultural Sciences degree.)

Eve soon gave birth to two boys.  The first one she named Cain because she had always liked that name.  The second one she named Abel because she wasn’t able to think of any other name she liked.

Cain became a farmer and grew lots of boring broccoli, while Abel became a shepherd and herded lots of  mouth-watering sheep.

One day, Cain gathered up a big bowl of broccoli  and offered it to the Lord while Abel killed a first-born lamb, sautéed the best parts in clarified butter, and offered it to the Lord along with a glass of His favorite chardonnay.

The Lord breezed by Cain’s alter and sat down at Abel’s table.   Just as Abel was tying the Lord’s First-Born Lamb Feed bib onCain came over with his bowl of broccoli.

Cain:  Hi Lord.  I grew this bowl of broccoli for you.    I think it will make a nice accompaniment to Abel’s Seared Petite First-Born Lamb Chops with Rosemary Balsamic Reduction, don’t you?

The Lord:  Take it away. I am rejecting it.

Cain:  Ah come on.  Don’t be that way.  Couldn’t you take one teeny-weeny bite?

The Lord:  No, I reject you and your broccoli, Cain. But I will have me some more of your brother’s delightful mouthwatering first-born lamb!  Hey . . .what’s the matter, Cain, you look angry.  Why are you scowling?

Cain:  I’m just feeling a little killingish that’s all.

Abel:  You’re stupid Cain!

Cain:  Hey, Abel.  Can I see you out in the field for a minute?

Abel:  I guess.  You want to come too, Lord?

The Lord:  No you guys go ahead.  I’m just going to polish off  the rest of these First-Born Lamb Sliders.

When they were in the field, Cain took the stalk of broccoli he’d won first place for at the Little Eden County Fair, removed the pin from it and stabbed Abel repeatedly with the pointy end — killing him, if not instantly, eventually.

Cain killing abel

When Cain came back, the Lord was just finishing the last of the first-born lamb Jello and was once again congratulating Himself on having had the wherewithal to have always made room for it when he was creating everything.

The Lord:  This Jello set up perfectly, Abel!

Cain:  I’m not Abel, I’m Cain.

The Lord:  Where’s Abel?

Cain:  I do not know.   Am I my brother’s keeper?

The Lord:  That’s rhetorical, isn’t it?   Wait a minute . . . Listen:  I hear your brother’s blood crying out from the soil.

Cain:  Are you sure?  Maybe that’s just your stomach growling again.

The Lord:  No, by Golly, that was blood crying out from the soil, alright.  There’s a fine line, but I know the difference.

Cain:  Gulp.

The Lord:  Okay, Buster, no more tilling the soil for you.  From now on, consider yourself a restless wanderer.

Cain:  You mean the kind of restless wanderer that anyone may kill on sight?

The Lord:  Not so!  If anyone kills Cain, Cain shall be avenged seven-fold!

Cain:  Why are you suddenly talking in third person?

The Lord:  I get so bored with omniscient.

Cain:  But why will they be avenged seven-fold?

The Lord:  Seven is my lucky fold.

Cain:  I knew that.

The Lord:  No you didn’t.

Cain:  More first-born lamb shank, Lord?

The Lord:  Thank you.  Don’t mind if I do.

And there you have it, Dear Readers, what Gregory learned in Sunday School, please check back next Sunday to see what will happen next to Adam and Eve and the gang.

Until next time . . . I love you

First Born Lamb Feed

Big Bucks Barbie

Hello Dear Readers!  For those of you who just woke up from a coma, congratulations!  You’re just in time for Christmas!!  Don’t worry if you haven’t got your shopping done yet.  I haven’t either and I haven’t even been in a coma.  So while I’m out shopping, here’s a little Christmas shopping story about the year my daughter wanted a My Size Barbie!  

Big Bucks Barbie

One year my daughter asked Santa for a “My Size Barbie.”  A “My Size Barbie” is a Barbie doll that has been fed huge amounts of hormones at the factory causing her to become the size of Daryl Hannah.

Picture of My Size Barbie in a Blue Dress   Daryl Hanna on Red Carpet

To ensure that “My Size Barbie” would be in stock, I went to the toy store early.   I approached the Barbie aisle and was about to ask where I might find The Big One, when I tripped over a humongous box containing “My Size Barbie” nearly breaking “My Size Arm.”

The adrenalin rush I experienced from the fall enabled me to heft the package containing The Incredible Babs onto my cart, but not being Arnold Schwartzenegger (or even Maria Shriver), I wasn’t strong enough to maneuver the box so that I could see the price tag.

I inched my Barbie-burdened cart to the checkout stand where it took four of us to hoist The Big Gal onto the scanner, and I mentally noted that perhaps some low-fat Barbie cuisine would make an apropos stocking stuffer.

Being an alert consumer, I had estimated the price at around $40, $50 or maybe even $60.

“Do you know how much this is?” I asked the clerk.

“I’ll let you know in a sec, hon,” she said as she fired up the jaws of life to help her run Buxom Barb over the scanner.

As I waited for the price to appear, I recalled a Christmas of long ago when I had received a Barbie Dream House.  My mother had lovingly assembled it all by herself.  It had taken her the better part of the Kennedy administration.

Barbie's first dream house
Assembles in four years

That had been my favorite Christmas and I owed it all to my mother and to my Barbie.  How ironic that this Christmas I would be giving my daughter The Mother of All Barbies.

“Excuse me ma’am? The “My Size Barbie’ is $128.  Did you still want it?”

One-hundred and twenty-eight dollars!  Suddenly everything began to move in slow motion.  I could feel myself turning white . . . then red . . . then green . . . like an aluminum Christmas tree on a rotating stand.

I looked at the clerk, then back at the 20 or so people waiting in line behind me.  They were all staring at me and sighing a lot.  Maybe they were thinking that I shouldn’t let my daughter down for a few lousy bucks and that I should forget the expense because, after all, it was Christmas.  Finally, a gentleman from the back of the line offer his advice:

“Move it lady!”

Then the clerk from the neighboring checkout stand shouted over, ” My niece has one of those and they can  wear the same clothes!” And then, just to bring it on home, she added, “I think she comes with an entire wardrobe!”

The clerk and I quickly tried to figure out how many outfits were included, but that information was on the opposite side of the box and somebody else was using the forklift.

In the end, I paid with a check so big it would have made “My Size Barbie” proud.  And as the crane lowered The Ultimate Barbie onto the roof of my car, I knew in my heart I had made the right decision.

“A little to the left!”
When Christmas morning came, my little girl would open her very special present, and the wonder and joy that is Christmas would be captured again for one brief, shining moment.

I say brief because the day after Christmas, I made “My Size Barbie” go out and get a job.

Until next time . . . I love you

Seven Signs You’re Addicted to Christmas Treats

Seven Signs You’re 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 your 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

Lunch at the Movie Cliche Cafe

Welcome, Dear Readers ,to this blog’s contribution to Whatnot Wednesday over at Biff Sock Pow’s Place.  Anybody can join in with whatever ‘whatnot’s’ happen to strike your Wednesday Whatnot writing fancy.  Today I thought it would be fun to write a little story about a great place to go to lunch on Whatnot Wednesday.

Lunch at the Movie Cliché Cafe

“Stella!”

“Yes!  I’m here!  You had me at hello!”

“I’ll have liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.”

“Outta Chianti, sorry.”

“Pishaw!  Love means never having to say you’re sorry.  Just give me a martini, shaken not stirred.”

“Yes sir.”

“Bond.  James Bond.”

“Yes, Mr. Bond.”

“Well, actually, they call me Mr. Tibbs.”

“Okay, Mr. Tibbs, have you decided?”

“I’ll take a box of chocolates.”

“I wouldn’t recommend the chocolates.”

“Why?”

“You never know what you’re gonna get.”

“Oh.  Then give me the Soylent Green.”

“It’s people.”

“What is?”

“Soylent Green is made out of people!”

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

Lunch at Cafe Cliche
Lunch at Cafe Cliche

 

 

How To Play Whatnot Wednesday
  1. Write a blog post entitled “Whatnot Wednesday” (it can be about anything)
  2. Add these guidelines to the bottom of your post
  3. Add a link to a Biff Sock Pow “Whatnot Wednesday” post (such as this one) in your post
  4. Add the tag #WhatnotWednesday to your post
  5. Post your post
  6. In the comments below in my post, leave a link to your Whatnot Wednesday blog post
  7. See how many bullet points you can end with the word “post”
  8. Most of all …. HAVE FUN!  (post)

Whatnot Wednesday: Boy-Like-Being Gets Girl-Like-Being

Welcome Dear Readers to Biff Sock Pow’s Whatnot Wednesday writing challenge post.  Today I’ve taken the liberty of posting a Science Fiction story about love and whatnot on different planets and whatnot in keeping with Whatnot Wednesday and whatnot.

Whatnot Wednesday:  Boy-Like-Being Gets Girl-Like-Being

Zing bellied up to the bar at the Intergalactic Space Station and ordered a human-being’s drink called a Zombie. If he understood it correctly, the rational for naming an alcoholic beverage a Zombie was that if one drank enough Zombies one took on the characteristics of a reanimated dead body.

Zing sipped his drink and thought about how weird humans were while scoping out the bar.

“You can put those antennae away, the Space Gals haven’t arrived yet,”   The bartender slid a fresh Zombie Zing’s way.  The bartender was a tall drink of water named, Mu, a feline sapien from planet Mumeria.  A fine pair of yellow eyes and a well-developed gift for witty banter made the Space Gals mad for him.

“How do you do it, Mu?”  Zing asked.  “How do you manage to juggle so many Space Gal friends?  Don’t you ever want to settle down?”

“You mean settle down with a Space Gal like Sally? “  Mu stifled a purr thinking about Sally.

“Sally does love cats.”

Mu’s back arched ever so slightly.  “I’m not a cat!”

“I didn’t say you were. I just said Sally loves cats.  Two totally unrelated statements.”

Mu reached out and gave Zing a whack. “Where I’m from we eat things like you.”

“Hello fellas.” Sally took off her coat and sat down.  “Am I interrupting something?”

“No, we were just talking about where I was going to take you tonight after work, Sally.” Mu said quickly. “We’re drinking Zombies.  Here, I made one for you.”

“I’ll go anywhere with you, Mu!”  Sally giggled.

Zing took a catnip ball and rolled it down the bar.  He could see Mu’s yellow eyes pick up the motion. “I’ll be right back,” Mu announced.

“How about a movie tonight, Sally?” Zing asked.

Sally looked down the bar.  “What’s wrong with Mu? “He’s acting weird.”

“I don’t know. Maybe too many Zombies.” Zing tenderly reached for Sally’s claw, and they sipped their Zombies and gazed into each other’s antennae.

"Love is a many splendored thing . . . emphasis on "many".

“I love you .  Most ardently.  Please do me the honor of accepting my hand my claw my whatnot in marriage.”

 

 

How To Play Whatnot Wednesday

  1. Write a blog post entitled “Whatnot Wednesday” (it can be about anything)
  2. Add these guidelines to the bottom of your post
  3. Add a link to this post in your post
  4. Add the tag #WhatnotWednesday to your post
  5. Post your post
  6. In the comments below in my post, leave a link to your Whatnot Wednesday blog post
  7. See how many bullet points you an end with the word “post”
  8. Most of all …. HAVE FUN!  (post)

 

Whatnot Wednesday: Baby Eating

Biff Sock Pow over at his blog Biff Sock Pow has added a new challenge for us.  Go to his blog and check him out (but only if you like to laugh).  It’s called Whatnot Wednesday.  The rules are simple (ish).  Here they are:

How To Play Whatnot Wednesday

  1. Write a blog post entitled “Whatnot Wednesday” (it can be about anything)
  2. Add these guidelines to the bottom of your post
  3. Add a link to this post in your post
  4. Add the tag #WhatnotWednesday to your post
  5. Post your post
  6. In the comments below in my post, leave a link to your Whatnot Wednesday blog post
  7. See how many bullet points you an end with the word “post”
  8. Most of all …. HAVE FUN!

Today’s Theme:  Baby Eating and Whatnot

Welcome Dear Readers! Well it seems the time has finally come to talk about baby eating, a topic that some of you may find a tad offensive. However, for those of you brave enough to continue reading past this point, let’s dig in and talk about baby eating, shall we?

Cue the first slide:

Disaster-Being-eaten-Lion-eating-baby
NO! WAIT! Don’t eat my baby!  At least let me run home and get the ketchup first!

Is it just me, or does this woman look like she’s not really trying very hard to save her baby?  I mean, she could just reach over and pry the baby out of the lion’s mouth.  Maybe she could even get the lion to open his mouth on his own with a few “here kitty kitty’s.” But no.  Instead she looks like she’s about to say, “Wait here while I run home and get the rest of my children. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lambs tail and I’ll even bring the lamb for dessert.”

Cue the next slide:

Medieval-Mythology-Saturn-eating-babies
Excuse me honey, sorry to bother you while you’re . . . uh . . .  whatnot–ing, but can I have some money? The traveling baby-spice salesman is here.

Okay, here’s a mother who will clearly never make mother of the year.  She seems far more concerned with the fact that the window washer is squeegeeing the underside of her husband’s calf than with the fact that one of her babies is playing with a fire-breathing dragon while another one is being eaten whole by a farmer on his lunch break.

And don’t you get the feeling that the man at the gate just sold her a case of Big Daddy Magellan’s Medieval Mesquite Baby Seasoning Salt?

And the next slide please:

Mythology-Demon-Demon-eating-people1
These aren’t really babies he’s eating, but in keeping with our baby-eating theme, let’s just pretend they are, shall we?

Okay, here’s a baby eater that can’t even keep up!  He’s got babies coming out of his ears!  Clearly this baby eater has it all, wings, a full head (and body) of hair and a bellybutton that looks like Mickey Mouse. And even though he’s feasting on a baby, he still has rather kind eyes, don’t you think?

In fact, I have a feeling he’d make a better mother than the other mothers pictured above.  Maybe that why people babies  are lining up to be eaten by him — probably figuring that since they’re going to be eaten anyway — they might as well be eaten by a kind sort of monster — at least one who has a belly button shaped like Mickey Mouse.

Linda Vernon Humor Baby Eating
“Hey! Getting my leg bitten off isn’t even making me cry. Well that’s refreshingly unexpected!”

Whoa!  Here’s a baby eater that can clearly pack it away (and probably never gain a pound!).  He’s got no qualms about chowing down on a baby two-thirds his size. I just hope his eyes don’t prove to be bigger than his stomach and I just hope his stomach is able to handle an entire baby in one bite.

Nobody would eat a baby like this today.  The potential for choking is far to great! We can only assume that this man is competing in some sort of Medieval  baby-eating contest for which the prize is an all you can eat baby buffet.  Let’s just hope he’s got a big supply of Big Daddy Magellan’s Medieval Mesquite Baby Seasoning Salt on hand cause he’s gonna need it!

And that concludes this week’s Wednesday Whatnot post.  

 

 

British Empire Atrocities or Happy Fourth of July!

Hello Dear Readers.  It seems the cold, cruel calendar will be ushering in the  Fourth of July tomorrow and before I’ll even have time to get out of bed!  The calendar is such a tyrant.

Which  brings us to another kind of tyranny (albeit in an ineptly worded segue). One that we Americans had foisted upon us on the Fourth of July  200- odd years ago by the British Empire — resulting in the Declaration of Independence!

I’d look up exactly how many years ago it was,  but I think google’s closed today. . . okay, okay I’ll try . . .

Hmm. . . As it turns out google is open but judging from the answers it’s given me, everybody went home early to light firecrackers.  They must have the temps working because I asked google the following question:

Hi Google, Happy 4th! Which reminds me, what were the atrocities the British Empire inflicted on the American Colonists that resulted in the Declaration of Independence?

And here’s the answers it gave me (as far as you know anyway).

1.  The British Empire kept messing with the price of crumpets causing the colonists all kinds of unpleasant menu-planning issues.

Linda Vernon Humor Thanksgiving Pic on the Fourth of July
“You no likee potatoes?”
“No we likee them, they’re a wonderful tuber. It’s just that we are going to have to hold off on the potato trading until we can ascertain what the crumpet situation going to be. Sorry.”

2.  The Colonists did not want to be bullied into memorizing a list of all of England’s past kings and queens in American public schools.

3.  If the Colonists hadn’t declared their independence, they would have had to wake up from their siestas early (see Spanish-American War) for tea time (see Atrocities of the British Empire)

4.  The Colonists had a premonition they weren’t going to appreciate the humor of Monty Python.

5.  The Colonists picked up on the fact that the British Empire thought they wore lame clothes and were borderline dirty.

6.  The British Empire imposed a tax on Nursery Rhymes which infuriated the colonists due to the fact that none of them even rhymed very well.

7.  American Colonists were vehemently opposed to using the word “row” instead of the word “fight” like the British Empire kept nagging them to do.

Fourth of July Essay Linda Vernon Humor
“Who never did him any harm but killed the mice in father’s barn?  I hate to break it to you, Redcoat, but harm and barn do not rhyme!”
“Oh yeah, you want to row about it?”
“You mean do I want to fight about it.”
“Uh . . it’s called row, not fight.”
“Oh yeah? Well I hate you.”
“Well I hate you too.”
‘Let’s row about it.”
“You mean fight about it?”
“Shut up!”
“You shut up!”

 

Well, Dear Readers, that about does it for the Fourth of July post.  I don’t know about you, but I’m already 4th-ed out!

Until next time . . . I love you

The Bible According to Gregory: Jeff and the Ammonia-ites

Welcome Dear Readers to this Sunday’s edition of The Bible According to Gregory. Let’s listen in and see what Gregory learned in Sunday School this morning shall we?

LInda Vernon humoous bible storiesJeff and the Ammonia-ites

One day in the biblical land of unpronounceable names, there lived a man named Jephthah but let’s just call him Jeff.  Jeff had been shunned by his entire family and had to live in the land of Tob, a land which was considered inferior because it was so easy to pronounce.

But Jeff had a gift for slicing and dicing his fellow-man (or enemies as they were called in those days just as they are today) so naturally when the Israelites were having some problems with the strong-smelling Ammonites (pronounced Ammonia-ites) they followed the trail of blood to Jeff’s house and asked him to be the captain of their armies to kill the Ammonia-ites because the odor wafting from them was giving them all tension headaches. (This is way before migraines were invented.)

Jeff  Makes a Really Dumb Vow

So Jeff  said sure but only under one condition. He would make a vow to the Lord that when he successfully returned from slaughtering the Ammonia-ites, the first person to come out of Jeff’s house to welcome him home would be burned alive as a sacrifice to the Lord.

Then Jeff went into battle with the Ammonia-ites and the Lord made sure Jeff won because the smell was giving Him tension headaches too.

Let the Smoting begin!

After smoting everybody and their goat — up one side and down the other, Jeff was totally smoted out and returned to his house in Mizpah Estates a new housing development in Tob.

Well, the door flies open and out runs his darling little daughter joyfully playing her little timbre which was an instrument exactly like a modern-day tambourine only spelled more stupidly.

Oh Drat the Lucketh!

Jeff was totally broken-hearted when he saw his daughter run out of the house first.  He was so hoping it would have been his mother-in-law. Jeff's daughter problem

Jeff has a heart to heart with his beloved daughter, Whatshername

But because Jeff was a man of valor, he sat down with his daughter and pulled out his standard-issued  “So Your Father Is Going To Sacrifice You To The Lord” scroll, and they had a nice long, father-daughter chat about her upcoming demise.

Jeff began by telling his daughter the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears only in Jeff’s version  — instead of Goldilocks running away and never being seen or heard of  again, Goldilocks’ Dad burns her alive as a sacrifice to the Lord.

Okay, Daddy, sure, when you put it like that . . . 

After that, Jeff’s daughter was totally on-board with the sacrifice thingy. She asked her father if it would be okay if she went on a two-month slumber party first with her girlfriends in the mountains so they could eat smores and weep over her lost youth and lift each other up with just one of their fingers and mourn for the children who would never be hers and roast marshmallows and grieve that she must die a virgin and take turns telling ghost stories.

Phew!

Jeff agreed immediately.   He was  hugely relieved that his daughter was taking the sacrifice thingy so well and promised to buy her some really cute pajama robes to take with her!

The Actual Sacrifice Thingy

Two months later,  Jeff burned alive his only daughter, little whatshername, as an offering to the Lord.

The bible doesn’t mention whether or not the Lord expressed any appreciation, but then again, the sacrifice of Jeff’s daughter wasn’t even the Lord’s idea in the first place.  Turns out, it was just one of those big biblical misunderstandings that were always happening back then.

Until next time . . . I love you

Jeff's Sacrificing Party

The Vegetable Lady Answers Some Questions

Dear Readers!  What a treat we have in store for us today!  The Vegetable Lady has been kind enough to stop by the blog and answer some of our most pressing vegetable questions!

A picture of a lady with a big toothy Grin Linda Vernon Humor
The Vegetable Lady will answer some questions

Our first question, Vegetable Lady, comes to us from  Reader, Phillip Flep, who asks: what is your favorite way to prepare tomatoes?

Tomatoes?  Golly Jeepers whenever I think of tomatoes, I always think of Christmas because that’s when Daddy, before he got lost at sea, would bring in a big platter of tomatoes, graham crackers and chocolate and  Mommy would set the Christmas tree on fire, and we’d make Smores!

Before Daddy bit into his, he would always say  “If I never see you again I love you,” but Golly Jeepers!  Mother and I could never figure out if he was talking to us or to the Smores.

This next question comes to us from Reader, Agamemnon Applebee, who asks: What’s the best way to get peas out of their pods?

Golly Jeepers it took Mother and I so long to figure that out!  Right after Daddy got lost at sea, we were awfully impoverished, so we had to live off peas until Mother and I  joined the circus.

Golly Jeepers!  It wasn’t easy to figure out how to get peas out of their pods until one day Mother borrowed a microscope and found out there was a teeny-tiny zipper in each pod!  Golly Jeepers!  I finally had time to get back to my sword swallowing practice after we found that out!

Our last question comes from Reader, Toots Tubaleeno, who asks:  What’s the best way to roast corn on the cob?

Well, after Mother and I joined the circus, Mother started roasting all our corn on the cob by positioning the cob between her teeth while  performing her flame juggling routine!  Golly Jeepers that was some good corn!

One night Mother set her beard on fire, which totally ruined her moonlighting job as the bearded lady in the freak show.  But Golly Jeepers! Mother sure went out on a lot more dates after that.

So let’s get this straight, Vegetable Lady, you’re telling us that your father was lost at sea, you set your Christmas Tree on fire every year to roast tomato smores, your mother is a bearded flame juggler and you swallow swords in your spare time?

Golly Jeepers!  When you put it that way it does sound a little strange.  I forgot to explain that I never swallow swords that don’t have a carrot stuck to the end!   Oh I’m so glad I remembered to add that!  Golly Jeepers! You would have thought I was pretty weird!

Well thank you for answering some questions for us today Vegetable Lady!

drawing by Linda Vernon Humor of the vegetable lady

Golly Jeepers!  You’re welcome!

* * *

Until next time, I love you

Remodeling Slightly Creepy Seventies Style

Welcome Dear Readers!  Good News!  You are just in time for our Slightly Creepy Seventies Fix, where we look at pictures from the seventies that make us shudder and feel slightly sick to our stomachs because they are so weird and creepy.

It’s the kind of perverse pleasure only the Slightly Creepy Seventies can provide!

Today we’ll be making fun of this treasure from 1970:

Creepy Seventies commentary Linda Vernon Humor
Creepy and Weird Seventies Remodeling Book

“Well, honey, I like the new Seventies kitchen remodel, sure, but where will we put our books?”

Strange seventies remodeling ideas
“I’m so glad father made this bookshelf under the counter only accessible to six-year-olds . . . ah! Here it is, sis, that book I was telling you about, Atlas Shrugged.

Nothing epitomized a Seventies carefree childhood like a random ladder to nowhere.

Inexplicable 70's decor
“Come on Bobby! Climb up, it’s fun!”
“Shut up Robbie! You know people with peg legs can’t climb ladders.”

And no Seventies bathroom remodel worth it’s weight in Mr. T gold chains was complete without a primitive seventies tanning bed.

Seventies woman in distress tanning
“Honey! HELP!
“What’s the matter now?”
“I’m fused to the tanning bed!”
“Again?”

And of course, every Seventies remodel had to feature a pool made out of horrendous “bricks of the seventies!”

Seventies pool bricks
“Please go in swimming with me, Morris.”
“Forget about it, lady, cats hate to swim.”
“But we put in this pool just for you, Morris!”
“Cry me a river, Mrs. Schmuckerson.”

“How very Frank Lloyd Wrong of you, Dear!”

Hey honey! Look what I built while you were away at your plant-hanger macrame symposium! An outdoor brick stairway into the living room! And remember that placenta we saved from our last kid? I made that into a placenta floral arrangement for the coffee table! How do you like it honey? Honey where are you going?
I don't know . . . but I'm never coming back.
I don’t know . . . but I’m walking out of the Slightly Creepy Seventies and I’m never coming back.

* * *

Until next time . . . I love you

The Bible According to Gregory: Fred and The Bears

Welcome Dear Readers to this Sunday’s edition of the Bible According to Gregory.  Let’s listen in and see what Gregory learned in Sunday school this morning, shall we?

Gregory of the Bible According to Gregory Linda Vernon Humor

Fred and The Bears

As you may remember from last week’s bible lesson, Gregory was learning about Elisha (pronounced Fred).

Fred  had just inherited the All in One Miracle Cloak from his idol, Elijah, who thew it to him from  the whirlwind God had sent for Elijah to take him up to heaven.

Biblical Fig Juice Stains

The cloak did wonders for Fred’s self-esteem.  It gave him the power to perform miracles,  it brought out the hazel in his eyes, and it even dimmed the shine of his very bald head!

img635

Horrible Artist’s rendering of what Fred might have looked like.

But the men of Jericho thought Fred’s story about Elijah being whisked off up to heaven in a whirlwind was a bit sketchy.

Jericho Man:  Hi Fred. nice cloak.   Say, have you seen Elijah anywhere?

Fred:  Uh, Elijah . . . uh . . . well,  he’s on a permanent vacation.

Jericho Man:  Oh how nice!  Where?

Fred:  Heaven.

Jericho Man:  You mean he died?

Fred:  Not exactly.  The Lord picked him up in a Whirlwind and took him to heaven while he was still alive.

Jericho Man:  I’m sorry, but I have trouble believing that because the Lord doesn’t travel in a whirlwind, he travels in a cloud.

Fred:  Are you implying I don’t know the difference between a cloud and a whirlwind?

Jericho Man:  Okay I’m bored.   Hey listen, Fred, since you’re the new miracle guy in town, would you mind doing something about the source of our drinking water.  It tastes like Shiite.

Fred:  Not a problem, I can fix that.  Bring me a new jar and put salt in it.

Jericho man:  But won’t that just mask the flavor?

Fred raised his I’m-the-new-miracle-guy-in-town-aren’t- I? eyebrow and the man ran off to fetch Fred a jar of salt.

Fred threw the salt into the Shiite water and everybody watched while he took a sip and pronounced that the water tasted as good as  Alhambra.  And everybody rejoiced by laughing at the way Fred pronounced Abraham.

Fred takes being called “baldy” badly.

After that Fred left Jericho to travel to Bethel as he had some early blankmas shopping he wanted to do. (This was way before Jesus was born.)

On the way there, he encountered a group of boys who started making fun of Fred’s bald head.

“Get out of here baldy!” they all shouted.

Which was the very worst thing you could call a person in biblical days not counting  Unleavened- Pizza- Crust – Face.

So Fred cursed the boys in the name of the Lord and two she-bears came out of the woods and tore the 42 boys to pieces which must have taken a while — long enough for Fred to get out his slab and chisel and chisel 42 hash marks.

Prologue:

After that, Fred traveled on to Mount Carmel, where he  bought everybody on his list a  box of carmels.

He came back by way of Samaria and gifted an extra box he accidentally bought  to a Samaritan who lived there and wished him Merry Blankmas!

And that’s why to this day, if someone buys an extra box of carmels and gives it to someone who lives in Sameria,  they are called a Good Samaritan.

And there you have it, Dear Readers, what Gregory learned in Sunday School.  Be sure to check back  next week to see what new and exciting thing Gregory learns in Sunday School.

Disaster-Being-eaten-Bear-eating-Viking1
“So you’re wearing that funny hat because 42 boys called you “Baldy”?
“Yeah.”
“You want I should maul them?”
“Yeah.”

Until next time . . . I love you

Baby Boomer Junk Mail

Hello Dear Readers!  Gosh it’s a beautiful day.  Okay let’s talk about death now.

Here’s something that came in the mail today from the Trident Society:

Trident Society Linda Vernon Humor
The Trident Society wants dibs on your “vessel”

Apparently the Trident Society isn’t really a Society at all.  It’s just a nice way of saying we’re a company that turns a profit cremating dead people.  I don’t think there’s regular meetings or anything.  It’s simply that they are asking for dibs on cremating you after you die, but they want you to pay them for it right now.

Apparently there are lots and lots and lots of wonderful  reasons why you need to  pre-purchase your funeral pyre.  Let’s take a closer look at what they are, shall we?

Trident Society Commentary Linda Vernon Humor

The first reason for being cremated is convenience.

If you pay for your cremation now, perhaps when you die, one of your  family members (whoever gets the shortest straw) can simply go to a Trident Society drive-thru window, pick up your ashes and set you on the book shelf until the next family reunion — where you will be lovingly lugged along and incorporated into the prayer before the potluck lunch is served.  Upside:  It’s convenient as all get out.  Downside:  Alive or dead, you’ll have to attend the next family reunion.

Cremation is much less expensive and has less impact on the environment!

Now how can anybody say no to cheap and easy?  It’s cheap AND it’s better for the environment.  Downside:  You had to pay for it yourself. Upside:  Hey!! Lookee you!  You’re recyclable!

It allows families to provide a dignified resting place to memorialize their loved one. 

What is the Trident Society trying to imply?  Are they trying to  imply that your current plan — to give great, great grandaddy, Trevor, the ol’ heave ho on your next Carnival Cruise — isn’t a dignified enough resting place?  Upside:  Oh yeah!  Downside:  Just watch you!

And finally, Dear Readers, if the above reasons aren’t enough to convince you that you need to pre-purchase your cremation, Trident Society is pulling out all the stops by allowing you to enter for a chance to WIN a FREE CREMATION!

Win a free cremation! Linda Vernon Humor

Sufferin’ Succotash!  Look how happy everybody is in the picture!  Well, there’s nothing like winning a FREE CREMATION to make everyone want to play a rousing game of Ring Around the Rosy!

Until next time . . . I love you