I love feel-good stories. They make me feel so... good. Yes, and stories that reveal the decency in people make me feel especially good. They uplift me, help me get up in the morning (that, and too many liquids) . For example, there's the warm and fuzzy story about a lost wallet that was returned after some 35 years. 35 years! Can you believe that? "I do believe that, I believe I do." Simply put, there are good people out there, and they're doing good things... Now, if my math is correct (good luck on that one), 35 years takes us back to around 1976, during our country's Bicentennial. "Bison what?" You know, lots of red-white-and-blue, a bunch of fireworks and parades (I wasn't around, but I watch a lot of History Channel). Anyway, getting back to the stray wallet, I know I'd return a lost wallet if I stumbled upon one. Yes, I'm pretty sure... "Why doesn't anyone believe me?! If I found a wallet, I'd return it, I swear!" I mean, returning a lost wallet is the right thing to do (no, I'm not trying to convince myself!). It makes for a very nice story that warms the heart, I think. Unfortunately, some people out there (not me!) are so cynical, so jaded. Critics say that before we give too much credit to Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes who returned the wallet, tough questions should be asked. Like, this guy, did he prefer to keep the wallet for himself all this time, until he wore it out? Did he borrow money found in the wallet for an extended period of time? If so, he should've included accrued interest, no? All very good points if you ask me, uh... those harsh critics. When all is said and done -- "I'm done!" -- when you actually take everything into consideration, the lesson learned from this story is to not pick up other people's wallets... "Don't touch -- leave it alone!" It's too much work. Too many questions will be asked of you, too much scrutiny... You just hope the rightful owners of lost wallets are appreciative upon their return, no matter how long it takes. Yeah, you hope... "Hey, my baby picture's missing! It was right next to these credit cards! You stole my baby picture! -- Police!" Oh boy...
It's really, really tough for me to write today.... This is a really difficult subject to tackle... "But... but... why?" Well, I don't want to offend anyone... (I have to remind myself that I'm just the messenger... ) "Pssssst, you're just the messenger..." But what's my mom going to think? "If you don't have anything nice to say..." See, I was raised to see the good in people. Only the good. Unless I'm cut off on the freeway. Or told I'm ugly. Or offered a stale piece of birthday cake... "Words will never hurt you, mijo..." Okay, I gave everybody fair warning. What I'm about to present will surely ruffle some feathers (I just hope I'm not the cause of an international incident)... Here goes nothing: Recently, I stumbled upon a list of the world's Rudest Nations: France, Russia, Britain, Germany, and Other (I've always wanted to go to Other). This according to a survey of very offended travelers... "You offend me!" Now, thanks to that list, I'll save tons of money -- I refuse to visit any of those countries... other than Other... "Other is so nice this time of year..." But what about the United States? Why aren't we on that list?! "We're as rude as they come!" If I want to be humiliated, mistreated, or just plain disrespected, I'll just stay here in the states, visit Yankee Stadium... or perhaps Fenway Park. I don't have to spend thousands of dollars on foreign travel when I can find all the rude people I want here in the U.S. of A. "Is this a great country or what? -- and plenty rude, too." You better believe it... Rude and proud of it. "And don't you forget it, Mister!" How could I? As it is, so many people tell me I'm Number One every day of the week...
My wife caught me the other day. "Busted, can't be trusted." It's a day I'll never forget. "What are you doing? -- let me see!" She was mortified, and I was embarrassed, quite frankly. "I can't believe what I'm seeing..." Yes, my wife was absolutely shocked by my actions... Just when she thought she knew me, too... What moved me to such desperate measures? "I was vulnerable!" I'll get to that in a moment. What matters is that it happened and I have to admit to it... Yes, that's right... I cried. "Are you crying?" Try to understand, my wife's always seen me as unflappable, with nerves of steel. "My knight in shining armor..." How I hate to disappoint her. But here's some good news: Doctors say it's healthy to cry, it's a great stress reliever. "Are you sure?" Please understand, some of us were taught that crying's a sign of weakness. "There's names for crybabies like you!" I don't like to hold grudges, and I don't mean to blame my parents, but... I'm going to blame my parents. But all's forgiven. I feel liberated... "I can cry! I can cry!" Okay, but now what do I cry about? Suddenly I can't muster up a single tear. That concerns me. Right when I get the green light to cry, I discover that life is beautiful. Life is perfect... "Hey, did you see that Lakers playoff loss...?" Somebody get me a tissue -- now!
I know all of you out there are law abiding citizens. You'd never want to break the law, right...? "I once got a ticket for jaywalking. Does that count?" Okay, but you didn't end up in the "Gray Bar Hotel," I bet. Go to the Dark Side for a quick moment, imagine getting thrown in jail with a bunch of hardened criminals. Pretty heavy stuff, right? All eyes are on the new guy, everybody's tense. Even the toughest of the tough are a little bit nervous as the newest inmate settles in. You could hear a pin drop... Finally, somebody dares to ask: "What ya in for, son? First degree something, right?" That's when the new guy admits: "Uh, I stole a 2-year-old's piggy bank." Huh? "¿Qué dice este vato?" Don't believe me? "Don't believe you." Yes, this actually happened. Look it up... I understand the judge even tried to give this genius a second chance: "You sure you don't want to give it another go, rob a bank or something?" Sources tell me the inmates didn't beat this guy to a pulp for one sole reason: They couldn't stop laughing. "You stole WHAT from WHO?! You're killin' me!" People on the inside tell me some lifers were really insulted by the Piggy Bank Bandit's actions. "He'll ruin our reputation!" Why, Al Capone's ghost was so upset, he put in a call to Geraldo Rivera: "What's next, a 6-month-old's pacifier?" In the end, let this be a reminder to us all: Crime doesn't pay. "But what about politics?" That's a different story...
I found an interesting e-mail in spam the other day... (no, I didn't open it) Somebody took time out from his/her busy schedule to write me this question: How's your nose? It caught my eye and I got a little nervous. I mean, is my nose in some sort of danger? Is somebody picking on me -- or my nose? Usually, I'm asked, "How's the family?" or "How's the car running?" But now there's inquiries about my nose? Is there a rhinoplasty bill I forgot to pay in a previous life? "We're taking you to collections!" Thanks to that e-mail, I'm really concerned about my nose. I hope somebody doesn't come in the middle of the night and try to steal it (I have a nice nose, at least I think so). "Hey, give me back my nose!" Then there's a side of me that really regrets deleting that e-mail... What if it was a well-meaning person, and I cavalierly dumped their positive thoughts... How insensitive of me. "I'm sorry, whoever you are." I really, really am... Maybe a Good Samaritan noticed something about my sniffer that nobody else is willing to tell me. "You cowards! -- spit it out!" Not that I'm obsessed or anything, but... I can't stop thinking about my nose... I keep looking at my nose... "Your eyes are going to stay that way!" Yeah, ever since that question, my nose is all I think about. It's still there, from what I can tell. But what if I'm in denial... "What's wrong, nose? I hate when you don't talk to me..." I just wish somebody would come forward with the truth... Is my nose growing? Is it shrinking -- my nose, that is... Why would somebody e-mail me about my nose? I have a right to nose -- uh, know... Please, whoever tried to contact me about my schnozz, please write back. "Let's communicate, let's debate. Heck, I'm willing to go nose-to-nose if I have to..." But enough about my nose! I have to get back to more pressing issues in my life. Yes, I most certainly do... But first, "Anybody got a mirror?"
I tell ya, I thought I'd heard it all. Then I stopped the Disco mix and removed my ear buds long enough to hear this: There's a woman who actually eats sponges and bars of soap. Yes, she eats them! "¿Cómo? -- Hasn't she heard of mouthwash?" Let me explain, please. "It's a whole lot easier on the trachea." Okay, so at first the news left a bad taste in my mouth. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it's no big deal, actually. "Live and let live, no?" Still, I have to wonder if this woman's "soap thing" goes back to when she was a kid... "We're gonna wash that mouth out with soap, young lady!" (no word if her parents have any regrets) On the bright side, the woman's mouth is clean -- and she's obviously a cheap date. "Waiter, I think I'll have a small soap, with a touch of natural oatmeal..." Nice... On the other hand, sponges are a different story. They can be unsanitary if not totally clean. "What's that on her teeth?" This woman's setting herself up for an awkward dental visit if you ask me... "I see you've got a thing for Staphylococcus..." Yikes... But getting back to the soap, it is a whole lot easier on the pocketbook. "Have you guys seen the price of shrimp lately?" Yeah, now that I think about it, having soap as part of a well-balanced meal doesn't sound so bad after all (no, I didn't just glance at the sorry checkbook). Just for fun, I'll consider shredded soap someday. But not now, not anytime soon. There's no need to resort to such desperate meas -- "Don't forget to buy a dozen soaps!"
Meanwhile, back at the ranch... Awhile ago, I heard of an abandoned horse in the Midwest. "Are you lost, horsie?" Its lousy owner should've faked it and posted 'Lost Horse' signs around town -- for appearance sake, no? But that would've defeated the purpose: "Hey, we found your horse!" Oh... Which leads me to ask: How exactly do you abandon a horse? How do you pull that off? Do you park it on somebody's porch, hang a sign around its neck that reads "Surprise!"? My paternal -- and cowboy -- instincts kicked in and I figured that poor horse needed a loving owner. "Hey, that could be me..." Why not? I can't get bowlegged at age 30, right? (that's my story and I'm sticking to it) There are lots of positives to owning a horse... "Bye-bye, gas station!" From what I understand, it's the closest thing to riding in a convertible... Now, if I were to turn 'cowboy,' I'd have to wear boots -- again. But that's okay, as people close to me know I have a special relationship with boots (stop snickering -- immediately!). I wish I could share my boots story with everybody, but I just can't... I really shouldn't. I -- OKAY, I'll CONFESS: I WAS 'SMART' ENOUGH TO WEAR BRAND NEW BOOTS TO DISNEYLAND FOR GRAD NIGHT, OKAY?! -- SO SUE ME! IT WAS THE MOST MISERABLE NIGHT OF MY LIFE! YEAH, I PRODUCED MORE CORNS THAN THE ENTIRE STATE OF IOWA! I -- okay... there, I feel a whole lot better... Now, where was I...? Oh yes... the abandoned horse. Maybe I'll start off slowly... Good idea, yes... I'll take my time, try the merry-go-round first... "Giddyup! -- faster!"
