Tuesday, August 30, 2011
I had to call a plumber for help recently and it got me to wondering what a tough job it must be to actually look like a plumber. I mean, they all have to have that similar look, right? You know the one: "Excuse me, Mr. Plumber, how do you get your jeans to fall below the hips like that?" (I hope it's okay to ask such questions) From what I understand, it's in the union contract that plumbers have to reveal just enough of their backsides to become full fledged members of their profession. ( Hence the shocked look on many housewives' faces...) It's my understanding that plumbers get their pants from a jeans designer in Dusseldorf -- or is it Downtown Disney? -- who makes sure all of his jeans reveal a... uh... fault line. Another interesting tidbit is that most plumbers use their backsides for ID pictures these days since their faces are hardly seen anyway... "Crack a big smile for me, okay?" Since I have nothing better to do, I wonder if there are special classes to train plumbers to lean over just the right way. "Don't forget to bend your knees." Then again, maybe plumbers do pilates so their bodies can contort in all sorts of ways to get that maximum 'plumber's look.' "Say, how do you do that?" Whatever the case, I'm intrigued by the effort it takes to look like an honest-to-goodness plumber (Not that I'd ever want to dress up like one). "Hey, where'd you get those steel-toe shoes? -- they're kinda cute." Now that I think about it, there are some attractive perks that go with the job -- like working with some very exotic animals... "Do me a favor, reach over and get me that monkey wrench, will ya?"
Monday, August 22, 2011
I'm so, so sorry to hear about the honeymooner that was recently attacked by a shark and later died. (You'd think enough people had learned from that Spielberg movie years ago. ) "Til death do us part..." -- that was awfully fast. Question: If the guy was on his honeymoon, (hint hint) what was he doing outdoors?! "Hey, let's go out and get some fresh air, honey." Yeah, look at the results. His poor widow didn't get the opportunity to file for divorce. "That's not fair -- I never got to hate him!" Reports say the well-meaning guy went out snorkeling. Well, after reading about this tragic event, guess who's NOT going snorkeling any time soon. Yeah -- me! I take it back: I will go snorkeling -- in my own bathtub. I should be safe there, right? If I want to get up close and personal with a bunch of exotic fish, I'll just visit the Aquarium of the Pacific -- or a local pet store. "I don't even have to get wet." No way am I going out into the ocean if I know some big, bad shark's in the mood to eat. "Hmmmm... I think I'll have Mexican today." Great, he'll probably want guacamole to go with it... Since I had nothing better to do, I did some in-depth research and was shocked to learn that shark attacks have climbed in recent years. We could probably blame that on the economy, too. "If people didn't have so much free time on their hands, they wouldn't bump into man-eating sharks." One thing's for sure, I don't ever want to take the blame for a shark's poor dental checkup. And I'll be the first to let him know it. "It's from all that junk food you eat, Mr. Shark. Aluminum cans, rusty car parts -- don't blame your gingivitis on me!"
Friday, August 12, 2011
The family and I recently went to an amusement park and stood and waited in long lines from morning 'til night. Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock... I still don't see the point. "What did I do to deserve this?" I mean, what godawful crime did I commit in another lifetime? When I think of all the productive things I could've done that day, something worthwhile, something meaningful for society... Instead of frittering the time away, maybe I could've come up with a polio vaccine... "Uh, that's been taken care of, sir." Okay, well, maybe I could've invented something that people fly in, that actually crosses vast oceans at record speeds, a sort of gigantic bird ... "Sorry, the Wright Brothers beat you to it." Oh well, back to the drawing board... Anyhow, I just don't see the thrill of standing in long lines for hours at a time for rides that last 30 seconds -- if that. "That's it?! I stood in line for this?! I hardly had time to blink!" To make matters worse, the "highlight" of the day was almost getting into a fight with some foreigner because she thought my family was cutting. "I dare ya to cuss me out in English, lady! I dare ya!" I'm sorry, but there's gotta be better reasons for standing in hundred degree weather... "You again? -- didn't I just see your face a minute ago?" Sure, you can always buy a "speed pass" to zip right up to the front of the line, but have you seen the prices? "You want me to pay how much?! -- so I can visit EVERY day of the year?!" Not a chance. Then again, maybe next time I can fake an injury and ask for a wheelchair, mosey on up to the head of the line. But I'm not a good liar. With my luck, security would see right through me, begin to question me... "It's a miracle! -- I can walk!" Maybe next time I'll just put a life-size cutout of myself in line. That way, the person behind me can just move it up and call me over when it's time to slip to the front. "Excuse me, fella, you wouldn't mind moving this life-like figure for me, would ya?" Yeah, I think that'll work... "Excuse me? -- you find that piece of cardboard more interesting than me?! -- You actually want to sit on the ride with it?!" Why, the nerve of some people...
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Sorry but I can't take any chances -- I'm not eating tainted turkey. And neither is any member of my beloved family (no, not even the in-laws). With the recent outbreak of salmonella, I'm in desperate search of good, sound turkey -- from somewhere out of state. "Uh, there's bad turkey in 26 states, sir." Doesn't matter -- I'll go international if I have to. "How do you say 'turkey' in Turkey?" I have various strategies planned out, too, in my quest for edible turkey: "Excuse me, Mr. Turkey, I don't mean to pry but... have you been tested for salmonella lately?" That's right, I'll start with the kind and considerate approach and hope that works: "Uh, Mr. Turkey, it would be an honor and a privilege to have you over for dinner." Now, if the "Mr.Nice Guy" move doesn't work, I'll have to turn to less subtle measures, something more direct... "Honey, where's my musket?" That's right -- I'll hunt down the damn bird myself if I have to! I have no other choice -- I need my turkey club sandwich, see?! Lots of protein and tryptophan for a good night's sleep. Beside, the kids have to eat something other than corn dogs once in awhile, right? "Daddy, aren't you supposed to thaw them first?" As head of the household, it's my duty and obligation to bring home the bacon -- in this case, turkey. "Hey, it's nothing personal, Mr. Turkey." Why, I'll do whatever's necessary to put the nervous bird at ease, in a so-called 'happy place': "Hon, where's my pilgrim's outfit? -- and you may want to put on an apron and bonnet yourself." Trust me, folks, I know what I'm doing. I'll go to the far reaches of the earth for my family... "Daddy, I'm craving a juicy snake sandwich..." Snake... uh... "How 'bout some cotton candy instead?"