The Gravity Situation

Linda Vernon Mathematics , , , , , ,

When it comes to our feet meeting the ground, there’s more than meets the eye. 

That’s because, frankly, I don’t think they’ve got the law of gravity completely right.

When it comes to the natural laws of the universe, there seems to be a lot of perforated lines.

You always hear scientists talking about tears in the ripple of time, somehow making it possible to suddenly travel backwards or forwards in the timeline.

But what, pray tell, if there was a way to put a tear in the ripple of gravity, somehow making it possible for every single thing in the universe to suddenly drop those last ten pounds.

Now that’s what I call a natural law with some legs!

Allow me to get a tad theoretical here, if you will be so kind. 

Let’s suppose I weigh 500 pounds.  Or better yet let’s suppose YOU weight 500 pounds . . . alright!  Now we’re getting somewhere.

Question Number One:

What we want to know is how can a person, such as yourself, who weighs a whopping 500 pounds coerce gravity in such a way that it would allow you to instantaneously go from a 500-pound Tub-of-Lard to a 115-pound Tub-of-Vegetable-Oil in a matter of nano-seconds?

The Answer to Question Number One:

The Answer is:  fool around with some equations until you find a frayed edge in the ripple of gravity, give it a good yank and hello skinny jeans.

Question Number Two:

Oh, rest assured, I can hear your little voice in my head asking, “How can an ordinary layperson, such as myself –someone who is still shaky on the multiplication tables — go from being a Mathematic Ne’er-do-well to a Mathematic Nerd-do-well with nothing to work with but  a dream, a hand-held calculator and a 500-pound friend-in-need, such as yourself?  Good question!  In fact, I am officially making it Question Number Three!

Question Number Three:

See above.

Let’s Talk Specifics

To figure out how to tear gravity using mathematics, the first order of the day is, of course, a large pepperoni pizza with olives.  Then settle down to some serious ciphering and re-ciphering  by deciphering the numbers and letters previously scribbled on a blackboard during a deep sleep.  This is a challenge if ever there was one.

But keep at it until you are able to find a loose thread either in the ripple of gravity, or failing that, in the cable- knit sweater you’re wearing.  Then pull the thread gingerly at first, then saltly and pepperly after that.

Before you know it, you’ll have a tear in the ripple of gravity as big as the great outdoors!

After that,  it’s just a matter of finding a sale on skinny jeans.  And to that noble end, I heartily wish you the best of luck!

Until next time . . . I love you

Singin’ the Fortune Cookie Blues

Linda Vernon Lists , , , , , , , , , ,

Fortune Cookie Fortunes Rejected by the Fortune Cookie Factory for Being Too Negative

Save room for poison!

If you always see the glass as half empty, you’re probably a lush

Time was on your side but it switched over to the other team

Everything you’ve ever done in your entire life has been a disaster including the way you comb your bangs

The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single schlep

 If intelligence were luggage, you’d be that little cylindrical container that holds your toothbrush

 If at first you don’t succeed . . . well, better just get used to it

You need to learn to prioritize – stop spending so much time crying over spilt milk and start spending more time crying over the fact that you’re a big fat loser

Don’t jump! . . . On second thought never put off for tomorrow what you can do today

Your wildest dreams will come true–oh sorry!  I thought you were someone else

 

Until next time . . . I love you

From the Bibliophile File

Aside Linda Vernon Lists, Uncategorized , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Bestseller Sequels That Are Just Begging to Be Written

A Flea Glows in Brooklyn

A radioactive flea gains self-esteem when he

gets a job as a firefly

 

Tell Me Again Why the Caged Bird Sings

Maya Angelou’s senior moments

 

To Stun a Mockingbird

The updated, Peta-approved version

 

For Whom the Belle Toils

Paris Hilton cleans toilets for the LA County
jail

 

Breakfast at Epiphanies

Adventures of a born-again Holly
Golightly

 

Clockwork Orange Sherbet

How to tell when it’s time to eat orange
sherbet in the future

 

A Street Car Named Gimme Gimme

Blanche Dubois forgets her manners

 

Ass Menagerie

Life on the donkey farm

 

What Color Was My Parachute?

Séance FAQs

Putting Procrastination to Work for You

Linda Vernon The Daily Routine , , , , ,

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

Linda Vernon The Daily Routine , , , , , ,

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

Linda Vernon Gregorys Bible Stories, The Daily Routine , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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 on, Cain 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

Linda Vernon The Daily Routine , , , , , ,

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

Ten Ways to Tell if You’re Overdoing Thanksgiving

Linda Vernon Adventures in Grandma Land , , , , , , , , , ,

Hello Dear Readers!  I love Thanksgiving!  It’s one of my favorite holidays.  Every year I cook for my family and every year I look forward to it with great pleasure.  Maybe a little too much pleasure.  That’s why I’ve come up with this list of warning signs on how to tell if you are going to overdo Thanksgiving.

How to Tell if You’re Going to Overdo Thanksgiving
Woman looking pensive with leaves on her head

You’ve replaced the phrase “I love you” with the phrase “Olive you”.

You just got back from Potato Mashing Immersion Camp.

You’ve instructed your surgeon to break ground on that new stomach addition.

Architect looking at plans“So the way I see it, we can knock out a wall between the belly and the button, and we should have room for an entire bowl of mashed potatoes and gravy.

In preparation for the big feast, you’ve managed to diet down to a size bite.

Even if you were to carry out pi to a million decimals, all forms of pi will be polished off by Friday.

“Of course I didn’t eat all the pumpkin pie! I ‘m an apple guy.”

You’ve taken to sleeping on a pillow of mini marshmallows.

Thanks to you and your voluminous Yam Stockpile the earth will be taking 6 days longer to orbit the sun.

Earth orbiting sun“Gosh this week is really dragging by. What day is it?”
“Yamsday.”
“Still?”

You made an appointment with your dentist to get your teeth sharpened.

Your new gravy boat sleeps six.

“Move over!”
“No you!”

Your husband, Tom, is slightly worried about you because his name is Bill.

You’ve been preheating your oven since the 4th of July.

You refuse to read, watch or listen to  anything that isn’t about Jello.

“Honey! Come quick! Look!  There’s Bigfoot!”
“Is he in the form of a Jello mold?”
“No.”
“Is he carrying Jello?”
“No.”
“Then I’m not going to look.”

And the most obvious way to tell if you’re going to overdo Thanksgiving:

Your appendix has been officially called back into active duty for the stomach reserves.

“Ten Hut!”

 

Until next time . . . Olive you

Lunch at the Movie Cliche Cafe

Linda Vernon The Daily Routine , , , , , , , , , , ,

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

Linda Vernon Linda's Bedtime Stories for Grown-up Children, The Daily Routine , , , , , , ,

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

Linda Vernon Baby Eating and Whatnot, The Daily Routine , , , , , , , , ,

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.  

 

 

R.I.P. Taffy May

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When I was a little girl, the pot of gold at the end of my rainbow was a horse.

I really only voiced the question of my getting a horse to my parents a couple of times, knowing full well that the answer would be no, and, as a matter of pride,  I’d ultimately have to run away from home or, at the very least, stage a run away as in the following true scenario:

“Look at this Janey,” my father remarked to my mother, “I found Linda’s pajamas in this little 45-record case in the bushes just outside her window when I was mowing the lawn.”

Oh I was going to run away alright . . . eventually.

Ok, fine . . . if I wasn’t going to get a horse, at least I could try for a kitten.  This is how I went about it.  Step 1:  Convince my parents that I was head over heals in love with cats.  So I colored umpteen pictures of kittens and scotch taped them to my circa 1959 pink wall.  Step 2 wasn’t even needed because Step 1 worked like a charm.  Next thing I knew I was picking out my very own gray, long-haired kitten from a batch of 5 or 6.

In my excitement, I failed to notice that this particular kitten had issues.  It suffered from the world’s lowest kitty IQ.   Maybe that’s why the name I chose, Taffy May, seemed to fit her so well.

Taffy May was the perfect cat for a little girl to bond with.  Being nearly brain-dead, she allowed me to pick her up and carry her around without protest.  She slept with me all night under the covers which I thought was because she loved me so —  but more likely she just couldn’t figure a way out.

I loved stupid little Taffy May with all the passion of my nine-year-old heart and soul.  She failed to grow to full size due to the fact that while she was checking to see if there were any predators around to eat her cat food, the dog would wolf  it down.

She had one batch of kittens – if three can be considered a batch.  But being the little dummy that she was, she managed to lie on all three of them during the night and  in the morning the only one left breathing was my beloved, Taffy May.

Perhaps it was Karma (I know there was a car involved) the day Taffy May shuffled (or rolled) off this mortal world.  I was on my way home from school without a care in the world.  When I rounded the corner, there stood our across-the-street neighbor, Mr. Huey, holding a lifeless Taffy May up by the tail.

I don’t know how many times Taffy May had been run over, but judging from the fact that she was literally as flat as a pancake, it would be safe to assume more than once.  I screamed and ran into the house where I was inconsolable well into the night.  I never got another cat of my very own, out of respect for Taffy May, who will always have a place in my heart . . . about two feet wide and one and one-half inches deep.

Until next time . . . I love you

Nine California Earthquake Survival Tips

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Welcome Dear Readers!  As you may have heard, California has been undergoing a series of strong earthquakes in California’s on-going journey to become the bottom of the Pacific Ocean.

Whether you live in California or are just planning a vacation here, it is this  blog’s civic duty to provide some tips on what to do should you find yourself in the middle of a California earthquake.

 California Earthquake Survival Tips

Scream!  If that doesn’t stop the earthquake, place your hands over your eyes and scream louder.

Don’t batt an eye.  (Recommenced for native Californians only)

If you are inside run outside (unless of course it looks like  rain).

If you are at Starbucks, scream — then run around in circles taking care not to spill your latte on any celebrities.

Drop to the floor and roll around — especially if you happen to be on fire. (Don’t forget to scream)

Hyperventilate but as attractively as you can.

Quickly snap selfie of “You Doing Earthquake” 

Grab your California Earthquake survival pack and scram.  

Your California Earthquake survival pack should contain the following essentials:

  • Teeth whitener
  • Your own bags
  • Map to nearest In-N-Out
  • Your guide to recycling
  • Surfboard
  • Whole Foods rewards card
  • Sunscreen
  • The phone number of your acupuncturist, your life coach and your cat channeler
  • Essential Oils
  • Salad

 

Well, there you have it, Dear Readers!  Hope this helps.  Stay safe!

Until next time, I love you

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gregory’s Bible Stories: Adam Takes a Wife Please

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Welcome, Dear Readers, to this Sunday’s edition of Gregory’s Bible Stories.

Every Sunday Gregory attends Sunday school and every Sunday he comes home and retells what he learned.  

Today Gregory learned about how God created Adam and Eve.

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Adam Takes a Wife Please

When Adam lived alone in the garden of Eden, the Lord noticed that Adam wasn’t doing so well.  First of all, the garden was a mess.  There were banana peels and watermelon rinds and half-eaten figs piled everywhere. Even though it was Adam’s job to be the guardian of the garden, he kept forgetting to water the plants and the last time he had actually mowed the lawn was never.

Most of the time all Adam wanted to do was sit in a big pile of leaves and stare straight ahead imagining how much better his life would be if God would create two teams of men who dressed up in cool outfits and tackled each other.

Then the Lord God said, “It is not good for the man to live alone. I will make a suitable companion to help him.”

And Adam rubbed his hands together and thought, “Hot Diggity Dog!”

But when God took some soil and started forming animals and birds, Adam’s smile quickly faded.

God:  What’s the matter Adam?  Don’t you like the animals I’m creating?  Lookee this one!  It’s got fur, a bill and webbed feet!  Isn’t it hilarious?

Adam:  Meh . . .

God:  Ah come on, Sport!  Cheer up!  I’m going to let you name them all.

Adam: But I don’t want to name all those stupid animals you’re creating.  That’s just another chore.  I never have any fun.

God:  Uh oh . . . I know a man who got up on the wrong side of the ground this morning.

Adam:  Stop making that joke, Dad, it’s not funny.

God:  Okay, but try taking another look at this animal with the bill and the fur and the webbed feet and just try to keep a straight face!

Later

God:   . . . and so this last one you want to call a Walrus?  How do you want to spell that?  With two r’s?

Adam:  You know what, Dad?  I hate to break it to you, but not one of the birds or animals you created is a suitable companion for me.

God:  What?  Not even the goldfish with their bubbly little smiles?

Adam:  No Dad.

God:  But why not?

Adam:  They can’t talk, they can’t cook, and they wouldn’t know a decorative pillow if their life depended on it.

God:  Oh I see what you’re getting at.  Here swallow this.

Adam:  What is it?

God:  Nyquil.

About an hour later Adam opened his eyes and Eve was standing before him.

God:  Welp.  What do ya think?

Adam:  At last here is one of my own kind.  Bone taken from my bone and flesh from my flesh.  Woman is her name because she is taken out of man. Thanks Dad.

God:  No problem.

Adam:  Oh and Dad?

God:  Yeah?

Adam:  Before you go, how would you feel about creating two teams of men in really cool outfits, an oblong ball made out of pigskin — because I know you just created those pigs– I was thinking maybe it would be fun to watch them try to keep the ball from each other and whatnot.

God:  But while you’re watching them do that what will Eve be doing?

Adam:  Oh I don’t know.  She could be walking  in the garden, making new friends, sampling fruit . . .

God:  That sounds harmless enough.  I’ll do it!

Adam:  Hot diggity dog!

And there you have it Dear Readers, what Gregory learned in Sunday School.  Please check back next week to find out what he will learn next.

Until next time . . . I love you

 

Eve gives Adam a decorative Pillow
“Here honey, I made this for you.”     “Thanks!  What is it?       “A decorative pillow.”

 

 

 

 

Meeting Jesus’s Dad

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Welcome, Dear Readers, to this Sunday’s edition of The Bible According to Gregory.

Today in Sunday School, Gregory learned about the day Jesus brought his three favorite disciples to meet his Dad.

GregoryMeeting Jesus’s Dad

One day Jesus decided to take his three best friends, Peter, James and John up on a high mountain alone.   The bible doesn’t say how the other nine disciples felt about their not being invited and biblical scholars can only speculate that Peter, James and John came home to find their robes all tied together.

Anyway, once they all got up to the top of the mountain, the disciples watched while Jesus prayed.  The more Jesus prayed, the sleepier the disciples got.  Before you know it, the disciples were out like unattended oil lamps!

When the disciples opened their eyes,  Jesus had changed into his heavenly civvies which the disciples described as being as bright as the sun.

But that’s not all!  The disciples saw that there were now two men with Jesus.  One was Moses and the other one was Elijah.  Apparently the disciples knew who these two men were.  (Most biblical scholars agree they were wearing name tags.)

Peter piped up immediately and said he would like to build them all some tents.  One for Jesus, one for Moses, one for Elijah and one for the little boy who lived down the lane (Peter was a kidder).

Anyway just as Peter was going on and on about tents, he was interrupted by what looked like a shiny cloud, but was actually Jesus’s Dad, God.  God said:

“This is my beloved son in whom I am well pleased; hear him.” 

When the disciples heard God’s voice the disciples all screamed and threw themselves face down on the ground.

After awhile, Jesus came and touched them and told them not to be afraid and when the disciples looked up the two men were gone and there was no sign of the shiny cloud.

As they came down the mountain Jesus asked the disciples not to tell anybody what they saw until the Son of Man had been raised from death.  The disciples pretended to know what Jesus was talking about even though they had no idea what Jesus was talking about.  (When asked about this later, the disciples insisted they did  keep the story a secret and had absolutely no idea how it had gotten in the bible!)

When they got back home sure enough Peter, John and James had their robes all tied together.

But Jesus’s stuff was just as he had left it.

“Fellas I’d like you to meet Noah and Elijah.”
“No I’m Noah!”
“Oh sorry, you guys look just alike!”

And there you have it, Dear Readers. What Gregory learned in Sunday school. Please check back next week to find out what Gregory learns next.

 

Until next time . . . I love you