Here We Go Again

It’s about time we start sorting out the crowds of narcissists who would like to be president of the United States.

 

As of this writing, the Republicans have twenty wanna-bes, and the Democrats have three-and-a-half.

 

Since I don’t have enough space or time here to delve into the Republican line-up, we’ll scrutinize the Dems, beginning with a guy named Lincoln Chafee, the half.

 

Governor Chafee’s claim to fame is that he is the former governor of Rhode Island, and the only person east of the Rockies that knows the metric system.  He feels that America should join the company of the rest of the world in using this “universal” system.

 

Back in the early 1970’s, I quickly became tired of paying premium prices to get my oil changed, engine tuned-up, brakes replaced, light bulbs serviced.  The result was graduating from night school where I took an auto mechanics course.

 

To perform these operations at home, I needed to purchase tools.  I bought good stuff that would last – and they have until this day – and bought them for my Mustang.

 

Fast-forward several years and I sold that beast for a Plymouth.  The punk that resulted was some of the parts were installed with metric nuts and bolts.  My tools no longer worked because they didn’t fit.

 

Plan A quickly became Plan B.  My effort to save precious dollars was masterfully derailed by having to spend those mechanic bucks on tools, namely wrenches.

 

It seems that all those years living under the tutelage of my machinist father who painfully taught me fractions, then converting those numbers into decimals, was all for naught.

 

You see, metric does not use ¼, ½, or ¾ inch sizes; metric uses whole number in millimeters such as 7, 8, 11, and 15.

 

That would be useable if I knew how big a millimeter was.  I know how big ½ inch is.

 

Some kid tried to explain the metric system to me by telling me there are ten millimeters in a centimeter, ten centimeters in a decimeter, so-on and so-forth until we got to kilometers, at which point my hair was on fire.

 

“But how do I know which wrench to use on the nut?” astutely I asked.

 

“Keep trying them until you find one that fits,” that teenage clown said.

 

Plymouth, GM, Ford, and all the rest of the metric pioneers from Detroit relented after a few years and finally gave up on forcing the metric system down our throats.  But, I digress.

 

Governor Chafee’s platform is not reforming the tax code, removing American troops from Obama’s Afghanistan War, or single-handedly breaking Vladimir Putin’s third vertebrae.  No, his presidential platform is the resurrection of the metric system to completely befuddle the balance of Americans who have yet to buy new tools.

 

All this boils down to a simple equation.  There are two types of countries in this world: Those who use the metric system and those who have landed on the Moon.

Keep It To Yourself

Rarely does a day go by when someone, somewhere has plenty of advice to offer about your health.

 

Just today I heard about politicians ordering the removal of trans-saturated-glutonous-fiberated-pork chop fats from our diets.  They said it would be removed by 2018.  Let’s keep our fingers crossed we live that long.

 

Keep in mind those politicians who are pushing for this diet are the same ones who “fixed” the health care system so that everyone now has the right to health care.  Unfortunately, no one can now afford it.  Job well done.

 

There’s also a guy named Michael Bloomberg who was the mayor of NYC.  He screwed up the Big Apple and is now taking his millions of dollars and trying to help ruin the rest of America that didn’t vote for him.

 

While in office, Bloomberg felt compelled to help the populace by reducing the size of sugary drinks people could buy.  He insisted it would save countless lives there – something for which we are all grateful.

 

Several years later and Noo Yoikers are just as fat as before.  Thanks, Mr. Mayor.

 

Then there are those buttinskis that would like to outlaw GMOs.

 

GMOs are genetically modified organisms, which are normal foods that have had their DNA altered to resist pests, droughts, and diseases, and can resist spoilage longer than non-GMOs.

 

This is great news for those people in countries that have poor crops and arid conditions, resulting in starving masses.

 

Unfortunately, this news is not so good for Americans who already eat from the horn-of-plenty and don’t yet need GMO crops.

 

It is their life’s work to stop the production and proliferation of GMO crops in the United States.  These loons are also trying to cease their growth overseas because of an inane fear they are going to have their temple-like bodies altered if they ingest these foods.  Let the other starve.  And, keep the crop prices high.

 

The people in those far-away drought-stricken places will be delighted to know these douchebags are making decisions about their nutrition, I’m sure.

 

Lastly we address those self-righteous folks who are avowed vegetarians.  They so enjoy standing on their soapboxes and pointing their crooked finger down at us carnivores, telling us they get their protein from eating beans, tofu, and watching Whoopi Goldberg.

 

These vegetarians – the word “vegetarian” is an old Indian word for “poor hunter” – quickly add that the removal of meat from your diet will help you live longer.  Without meat, why would you want to?

 

And, this type of diet is not for everyone.  I like meat.  Beef, pork, beef, poultry, and beef are my favorites.

 

Vegetarians will tell you, “Red meat is bad for you.”

 

Red meat is not bad for you.  Fuzzy green meat is bad for you.  And that’s the truth.

Getting’ Screwed Again

A few years back, a woman was burned by coffee at an Irish fast food establishment.  It seems as though she was in the drive-thru (that’s the lane outside the restaurant for skinny people that don’t need the exercise to walk inside to retrieve their food.)

 

She cleverly placed the hot beverage between her legs and promptly burned herself when the lid became dislodged.

 

Rather than being laughed out of court or shot for stupidity, the courts entertained her lawsuit.  Soon it became clear the judge and all twelve jurors were just as stupid as the plaintiff because amazingly she won $24,000,000 for burn salve and more coffee.

 

This leads me to tell you about an invitation I received to join a class-action lawsuit.  Years ago my sainted wife and I bought cell phones from a company that evidently overcharged us for the phones, service, and ear thingy that resembles a hearing aid.

 

To remedy this legal misdeed, we were told we could recoup our losses if we signed up to be party to this action.  We did.

 

A few months later, rather than a check for $200, we got a postcard good for 8% off our next phone purchase from these rat bastards.  We got screwed, not the phone company.

 

While in the grocery store yesterday, I was asked if I had my own bags.  I did not.  Rather than schlepping my goods to the car cradled in my arms like baby triplets, I was forced to buy five bags.

 

Times were not far gone when you were instead asked whether you’d like paper or plastic.  Then, if you wanted paper, it would cost you 5¢ per bag.  Instead of paying the extra cash for recyclable paper ones, they merely forced plastic ones on you.  Now, they charge for the plastic ones unless you brought your own containers.  Screwed again.

 

Last summer when I bought four tires, I was made to pay not only sales tax and federal excise tax, but also a tire disposal fee.  This fee amounted to $2 per tire.  Not excessive but, not necessary, either.  Screwed again.

 

So it was with interest that while I was watching a golf game on TV, I noticed that a professional golfer hit an errant ball into the throngs of spectators lining the fairway.  This evidently inattentive fan was summarily beaned by the ball.  He was rushed to the hospital for treatment and observation. 

 

On the plus side, the offending duffer gave him a signed golf glove to show his concern.  I’m certain that was worth countless pennies for that hospital bill.  Screwed again.

 

As Aesop would say, the moral of the story is: place boiling coffee between your legs if you want to get ahead in life.

I Be Mistaken

In 1980, a movie hit the big screen that parodied all the disaster films of the ‘70’s.  This particular one is Airplane!, which a quarter century later I still being quoted for some of the funniest lines.

In one scene, the passengers discover they were served tainted fish, and are now concerned about their well-being.  Barbara Billingsly – the mother on Leave It To Beaver – winds up being the interpreter for the following urban slang conversation:

First Jive Dude:
Shit man, that honky mus' be messin' my old lady... got to be runnin' cold upside down his head. You know?

Second Jive Dude:
Hey home, I can dig it. You know he ain't gonna lay no mo' big rap up on you man.

First Jive Dude:
I say hey sky, s'other s'ay I wan say?

Second Jive Dude:
UH...

First Jive Dude:
Pray to J I get the same ol' same ol'.

Second Jive Dude:
Eh. Yo knock yourself a pro slick, gray matter live performas down now take TCB'in man.

First Jive Dude:
Hey, you know what they say... See a broad, to get that booty yak 'em.

Second Jive Dude:
Cold got to be. You know? Shiiiiit.

All this demonstrates that a simple conversation can quickly become indecipherable by invoking talk not widely used, or understood, by educated people.

The other day, a woman in the grocery store called me “fat.”  A cashier corrected me when she said I was called “phat.”

An ardent search for more urban words found a few amusing ones that deserve sharing for sympathy, if for nothing else.  Pay attention; you know who you are.

Ratchet:  a diva, especially one from an urban area or of lower socioeconomic status, who incorrectly believes she is every man's dream

Rendezbooze — a designated time and place to drink with a group of friends

Typeractive — someone who's overly talkative in emails or text

 

Karaoke filibuster — the act of preventing others from participating in karaoke by choosing an extraordinarily long song

 

Ludwigvanquixote — someone who is fanatical, especially someone with delusions of grandeur or Chicken Little-type paranoia

 

Designated drunk — the individual who drinks all offers of free drinks sent to the designated driver

 

Earjacking — 1) eavesdropping on a conversation you have no business hearing; 2) forcing your friends to listen to (bad) music they don't want to hear

 

No thanks are necessary.  Please use these wisely, Grasshopper.

 

 

Don't forget to check out Ask Uncle Paul @ http://easternshorefishandgame.blogspot.com/p/ask-uncle-paul.html

Bewildering Spree

Time changes lots of things in ones life.  The older we get the more we should realize what works and what doesn’t, and hopefully we are able to distinguish between the two.

 

Guys aren’t given a domestic handbook when they leave the fold.  Guys have to figure all that stuff out by trial and error, and then we suffer for it the rest of our lives.

 

If you think this about road rage, it isn’t.  This is about growing older and wiser and knowing what to buy at the grocery store.

 

 Young, single men may have muscles, facial hair, and a sense of flair but, they have no clue as to what a nutritious meal consists of.

 

Grocery stores are the women’s playground, enjoyed second only to a shoe store.  Guys, on the other hand, see it as a semi-civilized version of waterboarding.

 

I used to shop for my grandmother and mother at any one of a couple of local grocery stores.

 

The option was mine, and the selection was based upon which trading stamps I needed to complete my book.

 

For the uninitiated, trading stamps came in several varieties to include SSS, Plaid, and S&H.  All were doled out based on the purchase price.  They were usually given out based on ten-cent denominations of the sale, and placed in a book.  Once the book was filled, they could be redeemed for very usable things such as bait pails and folding aluminum lawn chairs.

 

This gimmick was supposed to lure shoppers into their businesses rather than their competitor’s.

 

Even gas stations gave out these stamps.  Alas, they are no more.  But, I digress.

 

My first trip to a grocery store as a bachelor found me bringing home all the nutritional necessities: potato chips, beer, and frosting.

 

Today, however, shopping as a married codger is a bid more challenging.  The grocery cart often resembles a farm wagon laden with unidentifiable green stuff – leaves and roots dangling from the miniature chrome prison bars of the wobbly supermarket cart.

 

Of course there’s the given.  Steaks, burgers, and beer, are all at the top of my food pyramid, right behind bacon and butter.

 

My sainted wife often has other nonsensical ideas with things called kale and grits.  Oatmeal is another mystery food that I have only seen in cookies.  And why would we need cumin and adobo?

 

Nonetheless, I now realize the error of my ways throughout my life.  And I now know what the words from the great baseball player Mickey Mantle mean: "If I knew I was going to live this long, I'd have taken better care of myself."