Get Moving

 

I took one of those quizzes that lets you know
how many steps you need to walk daily to get to your ideal weight.
  
Apparently, I need to walk to Chile. 

The Monkey's Nose

 

    Okay, this is going to sound wicked self-serving.  Perhaps it is, but this past Friday was my 67^th birthday.  It was fun in a morbid realization that the extended warranty on my body has expired kind of way.  But, at least I’m on the right side of the hole.

    For now.
    Anyway, the occasion called to mind my 19^th birthday wayyyyyyy back in 1977.  As I told the story of what happened that day to my coworkers, I was reminded of a short story written in 1902 by the Englishman W.W. Jacobs, “The Monkey’s Paw.”

    Seriously, that's how my mind goes.  But, if you've been coming around here a long time, you probably already new that.

"What does this have to do with his birthday?"
"Don't worry.  He'll get to it.  I hope."

    NOTE:  That he was an “English” man is probably irrelevant, but, hey, creative writing!

    I won’t go into the entire plot because, let’s face it, you want to get in and get out with this post.  No sense clogging it up with…words.

    Suffice to say the aforementioned paw had the power to grant three wishes, but at a terrible cost.

    The horror part of this thing kicks off when the main character wishes for 200 pounds.

    Hey, whaddya know, being "English" is relevant!

"Quite."

    Apparently, he wanted to make the final mortgage payment on his house.

     NOTE:  Incidentally, 200 pounds is equivalent to $269.99 in real money (or one of Whoopi Goldberg's legs).  Well, at least in 2025.  Who knows WTF it was worth in 1902?  Hey, I’ve done enough work for you people.

    Well, he gets it, but only as a bereavement payment when his son is killed in a horrible accident.

    So, what does this have to do with my birthday, you might ask?

    Well, on July 10, 1977, I was at sea aboard USS America as we made our way back to Norfolk, Virginia.

Now sitting at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.
Everyone was taken off. 
I think. 

    NOTE:  I was a very young crewmember then.  As such, I was assigned duty as a dishwasher for the Officers Mess.  Hey, someone had to do it. 

Eventually, though, I would be footloose and fancy-free.
In addition to being a snappy dresser.

    As we listened to Manfred Mann's "The Roaring Silence" for the hundredth time,

Sadly, it was the only cassette tape we had. 
It was a good album. 
The first fifty times.

I made the comment that the following day was my birthday.  How sucky was it that I would have to work?

    Yeah, that was back when I actually cared that my body made another trip around the sun.  Of course, I had brown hair and everything worked back then, too.

"Everything?"

Yes, everything.

  Well, wouldn’t you know?  That evening, I got into a pretty significant fight with a huge cook over a set of fully intact rubber gloves.

    NOTE:  Yes, it was as petty as that.

    The upshot is that I lost.  Badly.  So badly that I needed twenty-one stitches to close the gash on the bridge of my nose.

Resulting in a scar I carry to this day. 
And here you thought I was a dreamboat.

    The result of this thrashing was that I was admitted to the ship’s medical ward (aka sickbay).  I spent the next day in a hospital bed.  I obviously didn’t have to go to work scraping cigarette butts and dried eggs off plates.

    So, there was that.

Shoot. I make it sound like it was revolting or something..

    But, that day was July 11th.  My birthday.

    So, like with the monkey paw, be careful of what you ask.

    You may get it.

    And it probably won’t be $269.99.

Shameless Self-Promotion
That story-and more!-is in this book.
Amazingly, still available on Amazon

   

The Great Urinal Stalemate

    Trust me, you're going to want to click on the link below.  Don't worry, it's not some sort of phishing scam or attempt to lure you into the website for NAMFLA (North American Man-Fish Love Association) for which I can reap rich rewards for each click.

Or is it?

    Really, it's not.

    Actually, while I usually don't post other people's work (mostly because they're generally much funnier than I am), this cracked me up in a "I soooooo know what he's talking about!" kind of way. So, I decided to take a chance and show you what a talented person has to say.  

    So go ahead and have a look.

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1WE74PjhzQ/

    I'll wait.

    Done?  Pretty funny, huh?

    The men among you, I'm sure, are quite familiar with the etiquette involved with using public rest rooms.  Come to think of it, "public" is probably unnecessary.  At home, I have my own bathroom.  I can pee everywhere and leave the seat up, if I want, dammit.  

   But, I don't.  Because I'm a civilized human being.

   And my wife uses it sometimes.

    Anyway, the concept of a "bashful bladder" is a very real thing (he calls it "shy" bladder, but it's the same).  If some dude is right next to me, that thing clams up like a nun's va...

uhhhh, never mind.  Suffice to say, the waterworks don't, uh, work.  What's more, I could be spouting Niagara Falls, but the VERY SECOND someone stands next to me, everything shuts off and I'm forced to stare at a linoleum wall.  I try to take my mind off things like do math problems, visualize bodies of water, think of things I have to do, try to decipher the tiny writing on the grout....WHAT THE EFF IS MY EX-WIFE'S NAME DOING THERE!!??

    If that doesn't work and I can't reestablish communications with my bladder, I faux shake, wash my hands in the sink (which is a good idea, anyway, because I wouldn't have pissed on my fingers in the first place), and then head outside to wait until the inconsiderate urinal hog leaves.

    Then I head back in to finish the job.

    This is if I am already at the urinal.  If I walk into a bathroom and see only two urinals and one is occupied, I choose the stall.  If the stall is occupied, I once again do an about-face and wait out the aforementioned potty patrons.

    If there are three urinals and only one is being used, I will use the one on the end.

Unless the middle is being used by this inconsiderate bastard. 
 If so, out again I go.

 

    Same basic theory goes with needing a stall if I'm suffering a "Crap Attack."  No bashful sphincter there, though.  I am in an enclosed space, don'tcha know.  But, I avoid farting or making noises to confirm that I am doing exactly what the damn thing was designed for in the first place.

This, though.  THIS!

    I will say this, however.  All of the above prohibitions pale in comparison to plopping down on a warm seat.

    In that case, I'll wait to go home.

Now you know the real reason why
Dylan Mulvaney wants to use the Ladies Room

 

Happy Independence Day!

     Sigh...yes, yes, I know, I repost this every year.  But, I think it's funny.  So, sue me.

"Okay, before we let people know we signed this thing, I'm thinking lunch.  Adams?"
"Roast beef and cheese."
"Got it.  Jefferson?"
"Turkey with dark meat."
"Heard that about you. Washington?"
"Calf Liver sandwich with eel.  With a shmear of horseradish."
"Eww, but okay. Franklin?"
"Fish and chips."
"Fish and chi...WTF?  Do you even know why we're???"

BTW, I prefer to say "Happy Independence Day," rather than "Happy 4th of July."  While I realize no one will confuse your wish for anything else, every country in the entire world has a "4th of July."  You may as well wish someone "Happy 16th of August."

"Got a card in the mail.  It said, 'Happy 4th of July.' 
Well, I was going to go with the 22nd, but...okay"