Can't Bare the Thought

I'm the first to admit that shopping's not my thing.  I pretty much have my wife run that department.  "Darling, I'm low on Fruit of the Looms..."  Now, don't get me wrong.  I'm willing to set foot in a clothing store IF a really great sale's involved -- and under certain conditions.  Like being allowed to wear clothes while shopping.  "Aren't you cold?"  Here's what I'm talking about: Not too long ago, a Spanish store (Yes, where ol' Chris Columbus set sail en route to the New World.) came up with a creative way to rack up sales -- and curious onlookers.  "What the -- ?"  Keep in mind, I'm just the messenger: One of Spain's fine department stores had shoppers stand in line in mere undergarments in exchange for a shot at free clothes.  Yes, in line, in calzones.  "What is this, a Calvin Klein convention?"  Those crazy Spaniards, did Picasso's work affect them that much?  Sure looks like it... I mean, scores of  men and women braved the elements in next to nothing with hopes of getting some free clothes.  "Where'd I put my wallet?"  Call me a prude, but do you know what I say to that depraved act?  "No, gracias."  No way I'd ever expose my Pectoralis major in a long line of complete strangers.  "You shop here often?"  No way, okay!?  "Hey, cool tan line..."  Simply put, I have some principles, some morals.  Oh, and a fear of pneumonia... 

Watch Your Language!

Warning to Parents: The following may unsuitable for children's ears.  I don't ever remember hearing anything so disturbing.  "I am sooooo disturbed!"  Okay, brace yourselves: Did you folks catch the story about the demo smart phone that cussed out a 12-year-old boy at a friendly neighborhood store?  Is that sick or is that sick?!  Good thing I wasn't there or I would've let that phone have it.  "Let me at 'em!"  Yeah, I would've walked right up to that phone: "Right back at ya -- foul-mouthed phone!"  Yeah, sticks and stones may hurt my bones, but -- you know the rest... Words do hurt, though.  "Your mama's so --" How dare that daring phone.  "I'm gonna make you wash that dirty little mouth, phone!"  Bad, bad, phone.  Naughty phone.  "I want you to write 'I will not cuss at innocent children' 100 times -- and then I want you to apologize."  From what I understand, the poor kid underwent counseling after the traumatic experience.  "Doc, it was horrible..."  Can you blame him?  There the kid is, minding his own business, when he hears vocabulary that would make a sailor blush.  "Who said that?  Who?!"  The poor kid couldn't sleep for days, and neither did his parents.  "Wait 'til you hear from our lawyer!" (talk about a dirty word)  The worst part of this horrific experience? When the kid started asking questions... "Hey, Mom, what does '#@$%&*!' mean?"  Shameful...    

Lost and (Finally) Found

Did you hear about the man who found his wife's engagement ring   -- nearly 40 years later?!  Forty years!  Yeah, that's with the '4' in the tens place.  I can just see the guy scrambling around, looking for that ring all those years...  "I know I put it here somewhere."  I can only imagine the doghouse that poor guy was in.  "At least toss me a blanket, will ya?"  How sad... "Sleeping in the garage isn't so bad after awhile..."  Sigh... I'm glad I wasn't the one to break the news to his wife way back when...  "YOU LOST MY WHAT?!!!"  Hopefully, the guy was quick-thinking.  "Yeah, someone broke into the house while you were in the shower and all they took was your ring -- honest."  Yeah, I'm sure that worked. Here's a better one: "Honey,  a bunch of Russian spies raided the house, and you'll never guess what they took..."  Poor dope, I bet the last time the guy had a warm meal was when his wife fired a breakfast burrito into the microwave.  "You want a hot meal? -- Here's your hot meal!"  My guess is this careless guy was reminded daily about the long-lost ring. "How would you like it if I lost your favorite golf club, huh?  What if I lost all of your childhood baseball cards?!"  Look, I'm not saying that women can hold a grudge, but... women can hold a grudge.  With good reason, of course.  "How could you ever lose my engagement ring?  Please explain!" I just wish I could've been there when the poor sap made his discovery and his eyes welled with tears: "Honey, look what I found! -- your ring!"  His good wife surely turned to him and said: "Good, now you can go out and get me a bigger rock -- this one's so puny."  Oh...

"What a Pain in the --"

Folks, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but... I've got really bad news.  Maybe I shouldn't tell -- oh, I better get it over with...  So, where do I begin...?  Dear friends, it turns out a slice of Americana, of good ol' U.S. of A.  causes pain.  Great pain.  "What would Norman Rockwell think?"  It's a pain that can put you on your knees.  "Make it stop!  Make it go away!"  It's a pain that can strain even the best of relationships.  Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, here goes: Hotdogs cause headaches.  "Don't shoot! -- I'm just the messenger."  Yes, it's true -- if you believe the research.  Some very smart people have concluded that our beloved hot dogs are a pain in the cabeza ('head' for those who slept through Spanish).  "No wonder my medulla oblongata hurts every time I drive by the slaughterhouse."  Guys, do you realize what this means?  Do you really?  Let me help.  Next time you go to the ballpark, you're taking a huge risk by biting into one those big, juicy dogs.  People in the know will look at you with absolute horror: "Don't do it!  Don't eat that thing!" Fans seated around you won't be able to focus on the game as they'll be too busy watching you chew.   You'll be a huge distraction to the masses.  Riots will likely ensue. . . "Get him outta here!  Booo!  Booo!"  The kids will be scarred for life.  "Somebody call Child Services -- he bought his kid a hot dog!"  But that's not all, guys.  Let's say that you're disciplined enough to stay away from those hot dogs -- kids included -- but your spouse isn't... Think about it, guys... The ramifications are endless, with long-term effects on the human population.  I'm warning you guys.  I can already hear it: "Not tonight, honey... I ate a hot dog."