Category Archives: Humor

I LOVE SPRING


 

I love spring except for when it arrives in February just before winter arrives in March just before spring comes back again only to welcome winter again.  I am blaming all this on Al Gore.  Our weather is more schizophrenic than the Republican Congress.

Looking around the landscape, I have a flowering cherry tree that started then froze, several rose bushes the same.  The forsythia, always first to bloom opened up one day and was frozen the next.  The persimmon has little protuberances poking out from the branches that would have become fruit, but now they are little brown twigs with a little round brown ball at the end.  And so it goes around the yard.  The dogwood might be ok, since the buds have not yet popped.  The azaleas look fair, except the antlered rodents ate every early leaf and bud from the side facing the yard.  Does anyone know a good deer repellant that does not include buckshot?  They frown on gunfire inside town limits.  If we manage a few flowers, they’ll all be up against the house.  Buds on the lilac were partly opened for the freeze too.  The lilies were up about an inch and they didn’t make it either.  But don’t get me wrong, I still love spring.

This week, I spent several days doing all of the spring things around the house.  Thankfully, Household 6 volunteered to sweep from the garage the remnants of winter.  “Because it’ll be winter again before you ever get to it.”  I love it when a plan comes together.

Either the mulch bags are getting smaller or I am using too much.  If you are wondering, they are definitely getting heavier.  After buying the same amount as always, I came up a few bags short.  But, after pushing the wheel barrel around the yard and up and down the hill – up when full down when empty – I think I can get those last few bags spread some other time.

I had to haul out the lawn mower a week or two earlier than usual.  The grass has been growing in spurts during the warm spots along with the early weeds.  There was a problem though.  I have a new fangled all wheel drive lawn mowing machine.  It works just great for my hillside, except if I give it too much juice I have to start jogging. I find it is also a good idea to let up when going downhill.  As I was pushing her outside, well I ain’t sure it’s a female but since it’s mine and has no brain of her own I get to pick the gender.  Anyway, her front wheels were locked which is not good thing.  Since she refused to roll, I drug her back into the garage by her limbs and threatened her with a hammer. Being female, that had no effect.  I think she stuck her tongue out at me.

So, I rummaged around the work bench until I found the right sized nut driver.  Straightening out the work bench and putting the pile of tools where they belong is another task awaiting.  Reckon I can con HH6 into doing that too?  “If you had put them away when you used them blah, blah, blah.”  I know, I know but I can usually find what I need in a reasonable amount of time.  Usually.

Anyway, to figure out why the wheels locked, I had to remove the front drive cover, but to do that you must first remove the front baffle beneath and bolted to the drive cover.  All was well, until I couldn’t remove the last bolt as my nut driver jammed against the wheel.  I hear you, go get a little wrench.  Nope, channel locks and if that doesn’t work it’s back to the hammer.  With everything disconnected, I was looking for the best way to pop the drive cover, when I recalled Murphy’s rule.  If it doesn’t work force it and if it breaks you needed a new one anyway.  Instead I decided to first pull the front baffle open. I found it full of petrified grass clippings and what may have once been a squirrel.  Or at least it was his nuts.  You know how squirrels are they’ll put those things anywhere.  I spent some time trying to figure out how this baffle supposedly closed, manage to get filled with yard debris and squirrel parts.  Ivy League trained engineer? I cleaned all of that out.  Yes I did, right in the middle of the garage floor that HH6 worked so hard to clean.  Don’t tell her please.  I reassembled and rolled her outside. Then I swept the floor.  I’m not suicidal.

I did everything one is supposed to do before putting a lawn mower up for the winter.  So she should have started right up after a couple of tugs on the starter handle.  Well, my right shoulder feels partially dislocated today.  I threatened her.  “How would like me to take you to that strange looking lawn mower mechanic down the hill by the pawn shop.  The one with three teeth and an ear ring in his nose.  Or would that be a nose ring.  And, the full length replica of Ms. July tattooed on his forearm?  It’s none of your business how I knew it was Ms. July.”  She started right up and purred like a kitty never missing a beat while I mowed my piece of almost heaven. In honor of Chuck Berry, we were motivating over the hill. I think I’ll name her Maybelline.

The heaving lifting for the spring yard work is over, now it will be a long slog of chemical warfare with weeds and moles and being outsmarted by deer.

It was warm and sunny this morning, nice enough to have coffee on the patio.  It’s peaceful on the patio with steaming coffee and the morning songbird symphony.  But.  That pleasant thought was ruined about the time I opened the patio door.  We have planters out by the door.  Apparently, the squirrel that left his nuts in my lawn mower went searching for them in the planters – all the way to the bottom of each as far as I could tell.  By the time that was cleaned up, my coffee was cold.  Did I ever tell you how much I love squirrels?  And spring?

© 2017 J. D. Pendry

SHOOTING STARS

Up out of the Bunker Archives

It was around 2100.  That’s 9:00 O’clock PM if you’re not accustomed to the 24-hour clock.  Household Six and I were cruising Southbound on Interstate 77 nearing the Virginia, North Carolina border on a grandbaby-spoiling mission.  Stars filled the sky and traffic was light.  I was admiring the view when a bright blue-white streak of light and sparks exploded across the sky.  It’s been a while since I’ve seen a shooting star and this one appeared to streak right through the dream catcher hanging from the rear view mirror.  An amazing site only visible for a fraction of a second.  For all I know it was burning space junk, but it had the power to transport me to a different time.

It was a time before the Internet, cable television, satellite television and radio, cell phones and all the other gadgets of our time.  It was the time of one snowy black and white television channel, two on a good day, AM radio and telephone party lines.  People still wrote letters in long hand, put them in the mailbox, raised the red flag and waited for the mailman to come up the dusty road in his blue Postal Service station wagon to pick them up – hoping he’d also have something to drop off.  Maybe the latest Sears and Roebuck wish book where I spent much time admiring Daisy BB guns.

In the Southern West Virginia hills, the air and night sky are clear.  Go to a hilltop on a night that’s not cloudy and you can count the shooting stars.  Growing up in the hollers (hollows for the not indoctrinated) and hills, I remember night skies blanketed with millions of stars, nowadays obscured from view to most by bright city lights and air pollution.

On a summer night, we’d take our assorted hound dogs to a favorite hilltop, build a fire to break the night chill and turn the dogs loose.  We’d stretch out on a good spot near the fire, rest our heads on a log or something else and look at the star filled sky.  Listening to the dogs chase critters through the woods and up trees, somebody would say, “That’s old Blue, can you hear him?”  Someone else would say, and “Yea, listen to Shortie, he’s a leadin’ the pack.”  Then we’d bury potatoes in the fire’s hot coals to bake.  While the potatoes baked, we listened to the dogs, the crackling fire, and crickets and counted the shooting stars.  Poor kid fireworks, provided on the grandest scale with baying hound dogs as background music.

We’d stay there by the fire in awe of the heavens making wishes and sharing our dreams.  The dogs eventually wondered in.  The fire burned low.  Its warmth replaced by chilled mountain air.  As the night shifted toward dawn, we stowed our dreams for another starry night and headed home before the sun made an appearance.

I’d get home in time to stoke the fire in Mom’s kitchen stove.  She had a wood burning cook stove, which she preferred over the electric one that looked out of place in a corner of her kitchen.  By this time, only my youngest sister and I remained at home.  The older two siblings were chasing their shooting star dreams and the middle brother was in the Army, nearing a Vietnam tour.  I’d go sit on the porch until the sun was high enough to warm things up.  About that time, I’d smell bacon cooking and know that Mom was up and about.  I’d be awfully hungry by then, trying to steal a piece of bacon and getting swatted at by Mom during the attempt.  She never seemed able to hit me.  I don’t think she ever meant to.

Shooting stars are here for a blink of an eye, yet millions see their light and recall it when they’re gone.  Like shooting stars, in the immensity of human history, we too are here for only a blink of the eye.  Our most prominent shooting stars are our leaders.  Their light and its affect, good and bad, remains visible long after they leave leadership.

How will history see your light and recall it when you’re gone?

Genesis 1:2-4   Luke 11:35-37 

Copyright © 2005 J.D. Pendry

Chad Prather, Southern Common Sense

Larry the Lizard

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Currently in recovery from my news junkie and politics addiction…  Secure in who I am.  Are you?

In July 99, Suzie-Q and I bought an old house.  One of the first projects was converting the back porch into a sunroom.  It was a concrete slab surrounded by a porch-rail height brick wall.  Brick columns supported the roof.  The prior owners left porch swing anchor bolts and roll-up shades hanging on the side facing the neighbors.  They took the swing.  The shades, I expect, were to hide from view of the neighbors otherwise it only blocked the afternoon sun.  We threw them out.  Not the neighbors, the shades.  Although it remains debatable about which was easier on the eyes.  These days, a nice lilac bush serves the same function as did the ugly shade.

The neighbor’s dog, the one that would chase a cloud’s shadow across the yard barking like he was possessed, liked to steal our flip flops.  The neighbor’s kid always returned them, each time having a few more chew marks.  Squirrels also liked the porch. It was their favorite place to gnaw through mounds of acorns that fell from a giant oak that leaned dangerously over the house.  The remnants of that potential house crusher produced aromatic smoke from the fire place chimney for a couple of winters.  When the leaves began to fall from the small forest that was allowed to grow up too near the house, the porch turned into a catch basket filling to the top of bricked porch rail.  Despite the charm of the little porch, it was not user friendly unless you were a no account flip flop chewing hound dog or a squirrel.

We enclosed it with windows all around and a full glass storm door.  We ripped out the natty indoor outdoor rug and replaced it with faux wood flooring, and added some wicker furniture.  We turned it into our own little Shangri-la where we could sit and enjoy the view of the back yard without concern for the critters, dogs, acorns, leaves, mosquitoes or the neighbors.  Or so we thought.

One day a concerned Suzie-Q called me out to the porch and pointed toward what appeared to be a trail of critter poop.  Now I am not an expert classifier of critter crap, but I do know that it did not resemble what deer leave in the yard nor did it look like a land mine from the neighbor’s dog.  Concerning the neighbor’s dog I can tell you that using a technique I perfected during the cow chip wars of my youth I can scoop his leavings up with my spade and chuck them a good thirty yards effectively airmailing them back to their rightful owner.  It is all in the wrist action and achieving the proper arch – according to my 6th grade basketball coach before the sport grew too tall for me.

I was assigned the duty of depoopafying the porch.  A couple of days later I was again summoned to the porch to view a new trail.  A critter invited him or herself into Shangri-la and then decided it was okay to crap all over it.  This newest poop trail was on the window ledge behind the wicker chairs.  I moved a chair and there sat one of those little blue tailed lizards that hide around the yard in the rock piles and crevices.  When you pursue one of them, he may jettison his wiggling blue tail to distract you while he bolts – if a lizard can indeed bolt.

I made a grab for Larry the lizard or it may have been Laura, but since I am not up on my lizard anatomy I cannot be certain.  Larry fled across the porch to the cover of the wicker couch.  When I moved the couch, he bolted again.  Before I could grab him (you see my intent was to capture Larry and return him to the back yard) he managed to get beneath the edge of the siding.  I could not get my fingers under there and every time I touched him he would skitter away.  Suzie-Q accused me of being afraid of him.  I assured her I was not and that I always wanted to put my hands on a slithering  miniature komodo dragon.  I finally forced him to leave the safety of his hiding spot. By now, Larry was tired.  He was not moving very fast so I knew I had him.  As I was lying out like the great second baseman I once was, it turned into a slow motion replay.  He was within my reach and destined for a return to the wild.  Then faster than Bruce Lee could yell nunchucks, Hiyeaaah Whack!  Suzie-Q ninjaed Larry with a flip-flop.  His jettisoned blue tail was flip flopping around like it had a purpose, but Larry look stunned.  I picked up him and his wiggling blue tail and chucked both into the yard.  Either he would recover or become crow food.

Since then, caulking has been squeezed into every crack and crevice that might permit lizard entry into Shangri-La.  Later I may add motion sensors, but for now we believe we are secure.  Larry and friends are free to roam and eat all the bugs they can find – on the other side of the wall.

The moral of this story is that if you make it into Shangri-la, do not crap all over the place.  Suzie-Q does not play.

© 2016 J. D Pendry

WEEKEND AT HILLARY’S

 

 

OPERATION – Hillary Clinton Edition

 

MilesTones: Write Brain Super Dooper Bloopers

by Rev. Austin Miles

bloopers

It is always good to start each day with a laugh. Indeed, I would never leave home without it. My first laugh of the day is found in the local morning newspapers, which usually keeps me lighthearted for the rest of the day.

For instance, one news story told of a truck driver in California on a busy freeway rushing to his destination, when the merchandise he was transporting spilled out on the road while rounding a curve, causing a two hour traffic delay. The driver was delivering a truck full of condoms.

With great though and journalistic skill, here was the headline The Chronicle crafted: “Truck Driver Spills His Load on Busy Freeway.”  I had to pick myself up from the floor when I saw that one. Every day those headlines pop up and some stories are so botched up in general that you can’t help but laugh.

Pay close attention to your morning headlines and some of the news descriptions of the happenings of each day and what you detect may make your day a fun day.

My anonymous minister friend, who also has a sense of humor, helped me gather up some real classic blooper headlines. Don’t be drinking coffee when you read these:

***Man Kills Self Before Shooting Wife and Daughter 
This one I caught in the Tribune the other day and called the Editorial Room and asked who wrote this. It took two or three readings before the editor realized that what he was reading was impossible! They put in a correction the next day.

***Something Went Wrong in Jet Crash, Expert Says 
Really?

***Police Begin Campaign to Run Down Jaywalkers 
Now that’s taking things a bit far

***Panda Mating Fails; Veterinarian Takes Over 
What a guy!

***Miners Refuse to Work after Death 
No-good-for-nothing’ lazy so-and-so’s

***Juvenile Court to Try Shooting Defendant 
See if that works any better than a fair trial

***War Dims Hope for Peace 
I can see where it might have that effect

***If Strike Isn’t Settled Quickly, It May Last Awhile 
Ya think?

***Cold Wave Linked to Temperatures 
Who would have thought it

***Enfield( London ) Couple Slain; Police Suspect Homicide 
They may be on to something

***Red Tape Holds Up New Bridges
You mean there’s something stronger than duct tape?

***Man Struck By Lightning: Faces Battery Charge 
He probably IS the battery charge

***New Study of Obesity Looks for Larger Test Group 
Weren’t they fat enough?

***Astronaut Takes Blame for Gas in Spacecraft 
That’s what he gets for eating those beans.

***Kids Make Nutritious Snacks
Do they taste like chicken?

***Local High School Dropouts Cut in Half
Chainsaw Massacre all over again

***Hospitals are Sued by 7 Foot Doctors
Boy, are they tall!

And the winner is….
***Typhoon Rips Through Cemetery; Hundreds Dead
Did I read that right?

The Bible tells us that It is good for your health to have a sense of humor. Take heed: “A merry heart doeth good like a medicine: but a broken spirit drieth the bones”

Proverbs 17:23.

Have a fun day. MilesTones

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Gump on Hillary

gump on hillary

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Tenacity

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Who’s To Blame?

Out in the back yard

I do not know if there are any surgeons among you, but if so, have you ever tried surgery with a weed eater. It is not a precision tool. Some weeks ago up in the backyard, I buried some bleeding hearts. To my astonishment, many of the roots I stuck into the ground are actually growing. A couple of them have flowers. Cute little red, heart shaped flowers. I have used caution while mowing and trimming the lawn. Unfortunately, because weed eaters are so indiscriminant and imprecise, some of those burgeoning plants will need a second start. Sort of like some flaming out talk radio hosts and neo conservative magazine editors.

Several years ago, I planted a persimmon tree from root stock. Suzie-Q’s all time favorite fruit. Two actually, well four if you count the first attempt. In spite of my efforts, one has survived. For several years, it has been little more that a twig with a few oversized leafs on it. I learned through several minutes of intense study, that this tree is supposed to produce fruit in its fifth year. I told Suzie-Q she better have a chat with it, because if there is no fruit come summer time it may not warrant keeping and I would put a dogwood in the hole. Even I can grow a dogwood. I saw her taking a look. Her back was to me and her hands were on her hips. I cannot say for certain whether or not she was giving it a talking to. Maybe it was one of those Spock Vulcan mind things. While wreaking havoc on the bleeding hearts and also trimming around the tree, I noticed it now covered with tiny little persimmons. So if the tree rodents that you may call squirrels and the allied antlered rodents are kind, by fall Suzie-Q should have persimmons. For which I will take all of the credit. Sort of like the politician whose policies destroy three jobs while expecting praise for the creation of one when truthfully it was God and the cycle of nature that did all of the work.

From a distance, I noticed my rose bush looked a little sickly following its grand start this spring. Like the stock market, but not quite as sick. A closer investigation revealed a spider mite invasion – unwanted visitors sucking the life right out of a beautiful plant. Another familiar thought entered my mind just now. As I was about to unleash chemical warfare and prune the rose down to a few inches above ground and begin anew, I made another discovery. Right in the center of the thorny rose bush was a tiny bird’s nest with four little eggs in it. It made me wonder if mama bird might have smuggled these vermin into the roses aboard her nest makings. Suzie-Q and I discussed it and decided we would give mama bird and the eggs a chance. I have inspected the nest daily. It does not look like mama has returned to the nest seeing as dying rose petals partially cover the eggs. A friend of mine who knows such things tells me they should hatch in a week to a week and a half if the mama bird tends to her job. So they have another week before they go into the compost along with the spider mites and rose bush remnants.

As the day’s work ended, it was time to fire up the grill and stare out across the fruited plain of my back yard. It was rather pleasant. Sipping a cool drink while the aroma of barbequed baby back ribs and smoked sausage swirled around my head. I may not make the best barbeque you have ever eaten, but it will rank right up near the top. I would give you the sauce recipe, but it is a closely held secret. It is so secret in fact, I never committed to memory all of the ingredients. That is just in case I am ever water-boarded. Suffice it to say that when it is being concocted nothing in the kitchen from the horse-radish mustard to the dish washing soap is safe. You can be assured that when all of these varied ingredients are stirred together with a single focus in mind the results are amazing. Sort of like that American melting pot we once knew.

© 2016 All Rights Reserved J. D. Pendry

Obama-Present Day Emperor Nortan

by Rev. Austin Miles

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SAN FRANCISCO-5-20-16–The City-by- the-Bay hosts numerous curiosities, consistently exhibiting behaviors beyond the norm. But the most intriguing of all was a man who identified himself as Norton 1 Emperor of the United States and subsequently, “Protector of Mexico.”

He seemed to come out of nowhere and sent notices to the various newspapers about his royal appointment, after “considering the inadequacies of the legal and political structures of The United States.” Here is that notice:

“At the peremptory request and desire of a large majority of the citizens of these United States, I, Joshua Norton, formerly of Algoa Bay, Cape of Good Hope, and now for the last 9 years and 10 months past of S.F.,Cal., declare and proclaim myself Emperor of these U.S.; and in virtue of the authority thereby in me vested, do hereby order and direct the representatives of the different States of the Union to assemble in Music Hall, of this city, on the 1st day of Feb. next, then and there to make such alterations in the existing laws of the Union as may ameliorate the evils under which the country is laboring, and thereby cause confidence to exist, both at home and abroad, in our stability and integrity.–NORTON 1, Emperor of the United States.

The announcement was first reprinted for humorous effect by the editor of the San Francisco Bulletin that no doubt brought chuckles in the Newsroom as well as to the reading public. Norton would later add, “Protector of Mexico” to his title. Thus began his unprecedented and whimsical 21-year “reign” over America.

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He wore the uniform of an emperor, complete with gold epaulets, brass buttons, hat with feather adorning it, and he carried a sword.  Citizens went along with it, according him every courtesy. He was comped meals at restaurants, and was given complimentary front row seats at various theaters on opening night. He put a smile on everyone’s face who enjoyed being in the company of ‘royalty.’

He would walk the streets, “inspecting them” for any flaws and make his reports accordingly. Occasionally, Norton was a visionary, and some of his “Imperial Decrees exhibited profound foresight. He issued instructions to form a “League of Nations,” and he saw fit to decree the construction of a suspension bridge or tunnel connecting Oakland and San Francisco.  He would become increasingly irritated at the lack of prompt obedience by the authorities.

Here was his decree: 

WHEREAS, we issued our decree ordering the citizens of San Francisco and Oakland to appropriate funds for the survey of a suspension bridge from Oakland Point via Goat Island; also for a tunnel to ascertain which is the best project; and whereas the said citizens have hitherto neglected to notice our said decree; and whereas we are determined our authority shall be fully respected; now, therefore, we do hereby command the arrest by the army of both the boards of City Fathers if they persist in neglecting our decrees.

Given under our royal hand and seal at San Francisco, this 17th day of September 1872.

He was very strict in titles being used properly, especially when it came to San Francisco, prompting this Imperial Decree: “Whoever after due and proper warning shall be heard to utter the abominable word “Frisco,” which has no linguistic or other warrant, shall be deemed guilty of a High Misdemeanor, and shall pay into the Imperial Treasury as penalty the sum of twenty-five dollars.” 

Emperor Norton was, by many people, considered insane, or at least highly eccentric. He could not get a driver’s license for reason of insanity.  After a reign of nearly 20 years, on January 8, 1880, Norton collapsed at a street corner and died. The next day, the Chronicle headline was: “Le Roi est Mort’ (The King is dead.)

Over 10,000 people visited his body in state, and a huge funeral possession, witnessed by 30,000 lined the sidewalks, accompanied him to his burial plot, which is today at Woodlawn Cemetery, in Colma. The site is marked by a headstone inscribed; “Norton 1, Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico.”

It is to be noted that the United Nations DID get formed and construction of the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge began on July 9, 1933 and was completed on November 12, 1936 and the Bay Area Rapid Transit’s, Transbay Tube, was completed in 1969 with Transbay Rail Service commencing in 1974. So maybe he was a real emperor after all.

This entire history brings to mind the present occupier of the White House, Barack Hussein Obama. He too appeared to come out of nowhere, and protected by incredible security that has hidden his place of birth, college records and kept secret every facet of his early life.

The difference between Obama and Emperor Norton was that Norton caused no harm to society, was colorful, and became an eccentric who was, in a way, fun to be around.

On the contrary, Obama has and IS causing great harm to the United States to the point of actually working to destroy this country.  Of the two, I will take Emperor Norton any day.

ANALYZING TODAY’S NEWS FOR TOMORROW’S HISTORY.

Fury at racist cartoon comparing ‘butch’ and ‘masculine’ Michelle Obama to pageant-ready Melania Trump

Leftists apoplectic with phony self-righteous rage

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A cartoonist has been accused of racism after he portrayed Michelle Obama as masculine and butch next to a pageant-ready Melania Trump in a controversial drawing.

Another work of genius from @GrrrGraphics has leftists apoplectic with phony self-righteous rage.

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The Two Faces Of Hillary

OUCH! — VIDEO– Ted Cruz Suspends Campaign – Then Elbows Wife in the Face

It was a rough night for Ted. It was worse for Heidi.