GESUNDHEIT!!

I have found if you ask someone their favorite season, more often than not, the response will be “Fall.” I have no other choice than to agree.

The days turn cooler, offering relief from the summer heat. The colors that grace the trees; no artist can paint. The crisp evenings instill a spring in our step and a revitalization that encompasses our inner being.

Only this time of year are we able to embrace the sights and sounds of the autumnal equinox. The grass is nearly dormant, extending a six-month hiatus to leave it be. Spend the time you would normally use to trim your lawn, on a flight of fancy for pure enjoyment.

Yes, indeed, this beautiful season we refer to as Fall. I once again must reiterate the sights, sounds, the cool crisp air… There’s something I’m missing… Something very important… What can it be?

Now I remember; a deep breath, an earth shattering sneeze, and 3 pounds of phlegm blast from my snot locker.

Smell! That’s what I’ve been missing! It’s not Fall; it’s ragweed season–otherwise known as “Relentless, Autumnal-Germinated Water,  Exceedingly  Enriched, Disgusting,  Snot, Eternally Antagonizing Said Owner of Nose.”

Wow! I don’t normally delve into mounds of mucus, but this just had to be said. Now, I strongly suggest to myself that I change the subject.

What popular activity is associated with Sunday (after church, of course) that coincides with the flowing of the phlegm? It’s the season of that great gridiron game, the all American sport of FOOTBALL. Sixteen weeks of testosterone-filled excitement, followed by the playoffs and then, the day of days…what we’ve waited an entire year to see…the only day of the year spousal abuse is allowed (and believe you me, my wife has a right hook that will put you on your butt. If I’m not mistaken I didn’t fully regain consciousness until Tuesday.)…Superbowl Sunday!  There is no doubt for that portion of the year, it’s manly men, wearing manly equipment, playing manly games.

Hmm… There is… dare I say it? Yes, I think I must… There is another manly game, played by manly men, in the land across the great pond. This land is a land of friendship–non-other than, the United Kingdom.

In no way do I mean to imply that our American football players are not manly due to the protective gear they don; football can be a vicious game and many injuries occur despite the high-tech gear.

However, I couldn’t help but notice in the game of rugby no equipment is worn. I have enjoyed rugby matches even though I haven’t a clue as to what they are doing. What I have been able to ascertain thus far amounts to this:

Burly men pushing back and forth in what is known as a scrum. There is a ball and crude orthodontia work being performed on the field. And, there you have it, my knowledge concerning the sport of rugby.

Unfortunately our time is over for now. There’s a football game about to start and I’m way behind on my play-by-play, not to mention the overabundance of mucus.

As for rugby, you’re walking a fine line between insanity and the manliest of the manly. For now I’ll discount the insanity and err on the side of manly-ism, but couldn’t you guys at least wear a mouth piece.

The More Things Change the More They Remain

Even though it goes without saying, I’m gonna say it, “This world sure is a funny place.”

I’ve written about other worlds, alternate Earths, parallel dimensions and none of them compare to the rock we call home.

As I have heard it said, and excuse me for paraphrasing, “Fiction is more difficult to write than nonfiction. Fiction must be believable.”

You can write about an alien being who lives on an active volcanic planet, eats rocks, poops yo-yos and attends the toy convention each year on Alpha Centauri.

How about survival on an actual caustic world–a world devoid of land with nothing but a sea of hydrochloric acid waiting to be fed?

Believe it or not a colony thrives in this environment. They are the Helicobacter pylori. To locate this ecosystem and these hardy creatures simply swallow. Your offering would be accepted, devoured and even added to your own recommended daily allowance (RDA) of stuff.

Let’s switch gears a moment and talk about the green movement, not the one that’s all the buzz here on earth, but the one a little further off the ground. Oh, you can bet plenty of people are in the know; it just hasn’t gained the worldwide notoriety of its cousin.

Why you ask?

It could be that Henny Penny hasn’t ventured outside for several decades. Personally, I’m holding fast to the theory that assumes it’s because hunks of smoldering garbage haven’t started falling out of the sky on a regular basis. I’m talking about space junk.

I know that “the sky is falling” crisis is true because I have spent an exhaustive amount of time reading and studying its effects. If you will turn your attention to the previous paragraph (the one that begins with Henny Penny) I will state un-categorically that I have read those three lines many times.

If you will then turn your attention to the paragraph just below this one, I will once again pledge to having scoured the text. This will prove that not only have I read extensively but am now considered the leading authority of what I have written.

Do you remember that old adage, what goes up, must come down? Well, over the past sixty years or so we’ve sent enormous amounts of high tech gadgetry up to space that have ignored the time-honored cliché and chosen not to come back down. I’m going to be the first to give this latest crisis a name: “Metal Mayhem.”

What I have been able to determine is this. As soon as the metal appliance is free from the gravitational pull of the earth it becomes a rogue, no longer obeying even the simplest laws of physics.

I sense they will be gathering at some point in time to do something. Until then, I will keep you apprised of any new developments.

Changing gears once again to the green movement on the surface of our planet (of which I am a proponent), God gave us this beautiful planet for our home and we are charged to be good stewards concerning everything within our power.

The latest issue I have to question are the cardboard tubes, or the lack thereof, at the center of a roll of toilet tissue.

One company has removed the dastardly tubes to prevent them from entering our landfills. It seems to me if we maintain landfills in order to dispose of trash, then what better trash to dispose of than paper products?

They come from trees, which we plant exclusively for pulpwood to make paper products. Once a cardboard tube hits a landfill and the tiniest bit of water comes in contact with it, I would imagine it would begin reciting the wicked witch of the West’s death dialogue.

“What a world, what a world,” the tube would moan (much like its green faced counterpart) as it dissolved into a puddle of goo. Who knows, perhaps cardboard tubes are actually good for the environment. They would supply ground nutrients it would not normally receive unless a tree fell and rotted.  Since the cardboard rots a few billion times faster, I believe I’ll opt for the toilet tubes.

The opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily anyone’s, but can be attributed to the ramblings of a madman.

I’m tired of playing now…… I believe I’ll take my drool cup and go home.

Please lock up when you leave.

Smorgasbord Anyone?

Why, I don’t know, but when a notion jumps out of nowhere and slaps me upside the head with an idea for a blog post, there always seems to be fodder lurking in a past or even recent work to reinforce that particular notion.

I bet I know what you’re thinking. Why doesn’t someone give this guy a handful of periods and teach him how to construct a paragraph using short multiple sentences instead of using one sentence to build a paragraph?

And, my answer to that would be: I shall take it under advisement and please don’t interrupt again.

Where was I?…Fodder lurking… Reinforce… Notion… Got it!

In a recent manuscript, during one particularly harrowing scene, our heroes were about to be ripped to shreds and consumed by a pack of mutated wolves. Before the nasty canines could partake of their bipedal sustenance (meals ready to eat), a boulder, driven by a rogue alien, unknowingly squashes the puppies.  Sounds kind of silly when you say it like that, but trust me, it was really scary when I wrote it.

What brought this work of science fiction to mind was a dog food commercial. Yep, that’s all it took.

In fact, this commercial began by saying all domesticated canines were related to wolves. Then, it went on to explain the animal’s need for protein and declared that their food contained 30% protein.

I’m certainly not qualified, nor do I care to refute any statements made by the manufacturer, but doesn’t it make you curious….how?  “How what?” you ask.

Just sit tight and allow me to explain.

How, breeders have managed to whittle away at a large, pack-hunting animal and in some cases, turn him into a tiny, yap machine or at the other end of the spectrum, a huge lumbering mass of good-natured (for the most part) slobber?

I want you to imagine this scenario…

If a pack of wolves were hunting in the wild and happened to bring down an elk, they would dine on a large portion of protein. In actuality, nearly all protein except for a lesser amount of fat. I guess all that whittling away the breeders did, lopped off 70% of our modern day puppy-dogs need for protein. Of course you can toss man’s best friend a chunk of raw meat or a nice salad and see which one he prefers. Kinda says it all don’t you think?

Enter modern-day suburbia…

You’re a member of the roughest west-side gang, the Chow Down Chihuahuas. You’re out in force tonight and hungry for blood. No sir! You’ll accept no less than 30% protein, 30% starch, 30% dark leafy greens and maybe, just before bedtime, to fill in that remaining 10%, you’ll nosh on a puddle of sardine drippings that ooze from the bottom of the Famous five-star dining establishment Le de Beauvoir house of stench  (mustn’t forget those omega-3 fatty acids).

You spot your quarry hanging out of an uncovered trash can at the Jones’. It’s a partially wrapped, still in the bag, pound or more of rotten deli sliced roast beef. Not only that, but you smell a half-eaten turkey carcass…that heavenly aroma wafting from within the food storage container.

Your unruly crew manages to turn the can onto its side and Katie-bar-the-door…let the feasting begin.

Filled to the brim, you make your way home, push through the doggie door, jump on to your owner’s lap and lick him right smack on the mouth before you settle down for your nightly nap.

Good…yawn.…night…zzz…zzz

That’s Just a Couple Syllables Short of Poetic

This particular post will be a bit shorter than most. I remembered something from my past and when it comes to mind it brings with it a minute or two of enjoyment even in its simplicity.

I became a carpenter during my early days of employment. One particular job we were working was out of town and we chose to commute each day instead of procuring lodging and laying over.

Occasionally we would stop for breakfast at a small motel with the restaurant on premises just off the interstate.

As is usual, any place that caters to tourist will have different knickknacks and whatnots for sale at the cash register in hopes of a last-minute sale before the customer gets away.

There was a placard that caught my eye. It tickled me when I read it, which was every time I stopped to eat. It didn’t take long to memorize and once I did I never forgot it.

I’d like to share this with you in hopes it will bring a chuckle or a smile to your day.

 

Starkle starkle little twink, who the heck you are I think

I’m not under what you’d call, the alco-fluence of ink-cohol

I’m not drunk like thinkle peep, I’m just a little slort on sheep

I not know who is me yet, but the drunker I stand here the longer I get

So pour me one more to fill my cup, I’ve got all day sober to Sunday up.

                                                                                                     Author Unknown

Sometimes it takes the simplest things to make us smile. So, turn corners of your mouth upward often. Who knows, it just might become contagious.