Sunday, December 30, 2012
I got an erroneous e-mail the other day -- I'm pretty sure it was erroneous. "Or maybe it was just sent to you by mistake..." The e-mail said something about alcohol rehab. "Well, now that you've brought it up, we've been meaning to talk to you..." Hey, as far as I know, I don't need any sort of rehab that involves alcohol. That's ridiculous... "That's what they all say..." What are you trying to say? "Just continue, please..." Yes, I will... Uh, anyway... Okay, so maybe I do use alcohol a bit more than in the past, but for good reason. "Aha! -- I knew it!" Let me explain: you see, I'm getting more aches and pains as I grow older... "That's no excuse for you to need alcohol to get through the day!" Look, in no way, shape, or form do I think rubbing alcohol's becoming an issue... "Uh... what kind of alcohol?" Rubbing alcohol... Why, what were you talking about? "Never mind, go on..." Like I was saying, these days I'm having to rely more and more on rubbing alcohol for various ailments. "You sure you're not overdoing it with the strong stuff?" I'm confident that I'm using alcohol from my local drug store in an appropriate manner. "If you say so..." Not that I need to, but I can quit rubbing alcohol anytime I want. "We don't believe you..." Yeah, I can always use my mom's home remedies; they always seem to help... "Without the use of alcohol?" Yeah, take Swimmers Ear, for example. "You know how to swim? -- you don't even have a pool. Actually, our association has a pool; it's very nice. It -- would you stop distracting me?! "Sorry about that, go on..." My mother puts spit in my ear whenever water gets trapped in the ear canal. "Spit? -- as in saliva?!" Sure, and it doesn't even hurt. "That's gross!" No, just awfully warm-- and it gets the water out. "I can't believe you're admitting this. You, a grown man let your mother put saliva in your ear..." That's right... "And your wife knows about this?" Sure. She also knows about the one where tomato-soaked newspaper's wrapped around my feet to bring down a fever... "Might as well make dinner while you're at it..." However, that remedy's a whole lot riskier: Heaven help anyone that gets the sports section before I've had a chance to read it...
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
I hate to reveal this, but... I received what many consider hate mail the other day. "I hate when that happens." I'd barely read the subject line when I became incensed by the audacity of the question it posed... "You shouldn't get mad -- get even!" Yeah well, that sounds like good advice right about now. "And we won't even charge you for it..." Just so everyone knows, I can smell sinister e-mails from a mile away, so I didn't bother to open it... "Oh. Maybe you should've..." What for? I'm not going to waste my time and energy on such things... "Just replenish it with an energy drink." All I read was something to the effect of: Do you suffer from chronic back or neck pain? Of course not! Everybody knows full well that I suffer from no such maladies! "We didn't know..." The way I took it, some cyber bully's letting me know that I'll soon be suffering from such pain... "Are you sure you're not jumping to conclusions?" I never jump to conclusions! "Good to know..." Come on, coward -- come out, come out, whoever you are! Show your face! "But what if he's ugly?" I demand to know why physical harm's being directed at my lean and supple body. I mean, have I ever wronged an innocent soul? Have I ever teased a geographic illiterate for thinking Michigan's peninsulas are two separate states?! "But aren't they?" Pity the fool that's trying to scare me because I laugh at professional wrestling (I wouldn't be caught dead at one of those silly matches). "You know it's real, right? Those guys aren't faking it..." I'm curious to know who I rubbed the wrong way along the way... "There's no way of knowing..." Maybe it was a bitter chiropractor who calls himself a medical doctor -- but knows he isn't! "That's not your fault!" Look, I'm a good citizen, okay? I smile at people -- unless they steal my parking spot. I donate to good causes -- mainly the cable company that covers my beloved sports teams. I don't throw eggs at neighbors' houses -- unless they give out stale candy at Halloween! Need I say more? "No need, no..." I'm a likeable, loveable sort! "Sure sounds like it..." Yeah, so whoever's out there wishing harm to my beloved back and neck better stop it, right now, right this minute! "Hey, there's a guy at the door looking for you, guy named Guido." Tell him I'm not home -- tell him I went to a wrestling match!
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Is America a great country or what? "Boy, do I hate trick questions..." Just answer the question, please... "I suppose America's great -- as long as you don't anger the IRS..." I just want to remind people that in the United States we're encouraged to express our opinions on everything. I mean, here in the land of red-white-and blue there are polls for just about everything... "There sure are: poles for traffic lights, fire stations, talented young dancers..." No, no, no, I'm not talking about those kinds of poles. "Maybe you should..." I'd rather not. What I'm talking about are polls -- polls. You know, where you're asked about things. You vote, compare your opinions to those of other pollsters... "Repeat that -- my mind's somewhere else..." I can only imagine where... "I thought I had more singles in my pocket..." Anyway, awhile back there was a poll that asked women if they found zombies attractive. "Say what?! -- What about me, ladies?! I'm quite the catch!" Unfortunately, it's not about you. It's all about the zombies. "They're taking over our world! -- a man's world! "What do zombies have that I don't have?!" Now you understand why I found that poll to be very, very disturbing. For women to actually take the time to participate in a zombie poll is not a good sign for us guys. "It's a terrible sign!" But I have one thing to say, ladies: Don't come crying back to us gents when you realize that zombies are emotionally detached. "What? -- what's detached?!" Through the years, guys have made great strides in getting in touch with their feelings -- and for what?! "Women are kicking us to the curb!" So many women complain that we're slobs, that fashion-wise we're so out-of-touch. Well, what about zombies? -- They're a bloody, unkempt mess! "Why, I bet they don't even use deodorant -- spray nor roll-on!" That, I haven't researched, but I wouldn't put anything past those hairy things, the zombies... "So now what do we do?" Men, there's only one thing we can do: we have to look out for each other, have each other's backs... "That's a brilliant idea -- what does that mean?" Well, we have to lend each other support. Especially now that women have options, specifically zombies. "I don't like this, I don't like this at all!" We're in trouble, fellas... Our prospects are dead -- sorry I said that -- if we don't get our act together -- and fast. Before you know it, the male species will be phased out. We'll become extinct, like the dinosaur. "I don't wanna be extinct -- that'll stink!" I hate to think about it, but think about it: the next poll's going to ask women something even more disturbing -- How sexy are amoebas? "Oh, that's not so bad. Amoebas are no threat to my buddies and me..." Yeah well, you won't say that once I share my trips down to Mexico...
Saturday, December 15, 2012
I don't know about you guys, but I don't like surprises. "Ooh, I absolutely love surprises!" Yeah well, that makes one of us... "And who would that be?" Look, maybe some of you out there won't agree with me, but I don't like the unexpected. "That's to be expected..." Sorry, but that's just me, that's the way I roll. "Downhill, we assume..." I don't like surprises, I've always been that way. "Well, there goes that idea for a surprise party..." It's especially stressful when it comes to surprise visitors: Knock. Knock. Yes, I'll admit it: when there's an unexpected knock at the door, I tell the kids to hide -- in the fridge if necessary -- and to not make a sound. "That's cold, man. Really, really cold..." Please, bear with me as I share a story about a bear that entered a home uninvited. "Oh, I love 'Goldilocks and the Three Bears' -- it's one of my favorites!" No, well, this actually happened. It's a true story... "What are you saying? What happened to Goldi?! -- What did you do to her?!" Uh, Goldilocks doesn't exist. She's a made-up character... "How dare you say that! Take it back! Take it all back!" Uh, okay, fine... Goldilocks is living a very happy life. "That's better..." Yeah, she married one of the Chicago Bears and now they're living in Big Bear Lake, California. "As long as they know how to swim, fine..." There, now are you satisfied? "Thank you, I love happy endings..." If I may, I'd like to continue with the story... "Yes, you were saying something about a cute 'n cuddly door-knocking bear..." Well, I don't know if it actually knocked, but the bear entered the property and made itself at home. "Maybe it was looking for porridge -- or a bed to sleep in." Bingo! That's exactly why I tell my kids to make their beds everyday, to make sure the house is clean at all times. But do they listen to me? "I'm sorry, I wasn't listening -- what were you were saying?" The lesson to be learned here is that you never know who's going to drop by, so keep your place clean at all times. Don't get caught with your pants down... "That's why I wear a belt." No, it's just a saying, in this case about surprise guests... "I'd have to guess one to three bears..." Of course, the kids downplay everything I tell them: "Oh, Dad, nobody's coming over, so why clean the house?" Maybe I care too much about what others think -- especially furry friends -- but I dread the thought of a bear -- any bear -- going back to its cave with ideas that we're a messy family. I wouldn't want to be the cause of a mortified, traumatized bear. I mean, I can already hear it griping to its cubs: "You should've seen it, all the beds unmade -- they live like animals!"