Scary Stuff

Throughout my years I’ve been accused of many things unfortunately, being smart is not one of them.

Still, I try to maintain the charade by using that age-old saying, “If you can’t dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bull$#!+.”

Nearly every politician uses that sentence as a motto because it is a proven effective tool.

And it is very often that I am able to see right through all that baloney.  Other people, it’s sad to say, cannot.

As an example, a handful of years ago a woman called a radio station to voice her complaint to a particular road sign.  It seems as though she was traveling on a road surrounded by woods containing a copious amount of deer that were causing traffic accidents.

At first I thought this call was bogus.  Then, more about this arose in the news which changed my mind altogether.

You can be the judge by following this link to that original radio show segment. Simply click on the video below:

The Iowa Department of Transportation used the ever-so-popular social media to attempt to spread the word about deer.

In Iowa alone, this year, over 3,300 crashes with deer have occurred.  There were 156 injuries and one fatality involved with these wrecks.

To help the public better understand the danger, and also help with those ‘deer crossing’ signs, the Iowa DOT issued this message:

“Deer can’t read signs. Drivers can. This sign isn’t intended to tell deer where to cross, it’s for drivers to be alert that deer have been in this area in the past.”

So, the next time you see one of those yellow signs displaying a jumping deer, think about your vote being nullified by fellow drivers who think those signs are for the deer to read.

This has been a public service announcement from EasternShoreFishAndGame.com.

My Goodness

Nearly daily I run across something that makes me correct my age-old statement, “I’ve seen everything.”

That is called a gratuitous assertion.  Of course, I haven’t seen everything inasmuch as I have never been to Thailand. 

The point is that I should say “Nothing surprises me.”  Then again, something always does.

While recently reading a Florida newspaper article, I came across a name – Daniell Rider.  Daniell is a female shopper at Hobby Lobby in Florida.

Hobby Lobby is a well known religious-oriented craft store that showcases crosses, God-related plaques, fake flowers, picture frames, and is always closed on the Sabbath.  The “Sabbath,” for all you atheists, is the Christian Sunday.

It seems as though Ms. Rider is additionally overly-sensitive to her surroundings.

You see, Ms. Rider, while visiting her local Hobby Lobby, noticed a fake cotton sprig hanging on the wall, as a display.  This tragic commentary on the state of slaves sent Ms. Rider into a tizzy.

She felt compelled to publicly shame and chastise Hobby Lobby for pandering to all the Confederate soldiers and plantation owners by using cotton, a symbol of racism, as a decoration.

I completely agree with her in her premise about cotton being “sensitive and unnecessary” to be utilized as a decoration.

This is where I stand corrected.  I never thought I would view my denim jeans and my cotton t-shirts as tools of the Confederacy that are holding blacks in bondage just to pick this racist commodity.  Yes, I was wrong.

Out went my tablecloth, kitchen curtains, flannel sheets, and everything else I could imagine was fabricated from that prejudiced plant.

Ms. Rider has a good point.  Hobby Lobby’s offensive display of bigoted tokens, such as plastic cotton plant branches, clearly demonstrates their thick-skinned approach to the Civil War.

So it is with Ms. Rider that I stand proudly to try to get in my fifteen-minutes of fame by poking my crooked little finger in the chest of a proverbial Goliath so that my fellow travelers – also easily offended types – can cheer our hollow victory, together.

Thank you, Ms. Rider.  You have achieved a once-in-a-lifetime accomplishment of nearly curing cancer, or finding world peace, in the form of a shallow internet posting about a plastic plant.

You go, girl!

Happy St. Valentine’s Day!

Hummingbirds have left The Shore for the season, Canada Geese are heading south, and Christmas decorations are being removed from shelves in the stores to make room for St. Valentine’s Day gifts.  All this can mean only one thing – it’s two weeks before Halloween.

My sainted wife and I were picking up provisions from the big city Tallmart and thought we would buy some theme salt and pepper shakers.

Sure, we have regular, everyday shakers, but I thought this year we would be jazzier and get some special shakers for Thanksgiving.  We wanted some that were both germane and generic so that they can be used for both Halloween and Thanksgiving; they would need to be in an autumn subject.

Just last week we found some that were in the shape of and over-sized acorn, for pepper; the salt shaker was in the image of a turkey.  Of course we didn’t buy them.

Here’s a freebie from EasternShoreFishAndGame.com: to tell the difference between a salt and pepper shaker, count the number of holes.  Salt has two holes, while the pepper has three.  You’re welcome.

We wanted a new set because we are planning for our Thanksgiving Day dinner at which we will host several hungry friends.  The good news is that we don’t need to find space to store these niche shakers; they were sold out.

So we wandered through the candy aisle in hopes they weren’t sold out of the Halloween candy, too.

Of course, only the good stuff was gone.  Peanut butter-filled chocolate cups, twin chocolate and caramel wafer sticks, and filled lollipops, were all but gone.  Plenty of Mary Janes and Tootsie Rolls and candy corn remained on the shelf.  Our only hope rested with non-cavity health food.

We were in luck.  The produce department was chock-full of baby carrots, celery, and bok choy. 

After a brief spat that my sainted wife handily won, fearing a toilet papering, we headed toward the snack area.  There, we found small bags of both pretzels and mini containers of golden fish crackers.  They were packaged for distribution to neighborhood ghouls.

In our little Eastern Shore town, whose population totals just over 140 people, seven of which may already be deceased, parents actually drive their lazy kids from street-to-street to beg for loot.

The way this scenario is supposed to work is they knock on the door.  Upon us opening, the Halloweenies shout “Trick or treat!”  That is the cue for the frightened homeowners to gladly hand out goodies to preclude any Night of the Dead Eve’s shenanigans.

Unfortunately, many of these costumed beggars can’t speak English unless they need to contact a lawyer or demand food stamps.  But, I digress.

And so it goes for a few hours.  Likenesses of Superman, fairy princesses, pirates, and even Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles – people shop at second-hand stores – filter through the October 31^st process.

Every once in a while, you look up to find one of these trick-or-treaters with a five-day beard and a Marlboro hanging out of his yap, holding a pillow case containing candy, four blunts, and two car stereos.

But kids delight in getting free stuff from the neighborhood, while dressing up for this pagan holiday.

I hope I can still find a Santa and Rudolph salt and pepper shaker.

Time to Leave

Ever since President Donald Trump took office we’ve been bombarded with half-baked garbage from The Left. 

Marches, riots, mindless chanting, false accusations, political snubs, chest beating, and in-your-face illegal activities from self-admitted law-breakers, have surfaced to the front page news like a turd in the punchbowl.

Everyone seems to have a gripe, no matter if those gripes are legitimate or not.  They demand to have their voices heard.  To do so, they need some trauma on America’s streets.

Simply disrupting traffic is not enough.  They feel they need to toss cinder blocks, paint, and bodily fluids, at everyone who disagrees with their elitist viewpoints.

And over the past few months, we have been hearing, from these malcontents, that America is not the great nation people like me thought it was.

I grew up working and self-subsidizing my education.  I never took a grant or scholarship, but I took up a lawn mower and garden tools to earn a living for myself.

My grades suffered because I spread myself too thin.  Yet, I emerged with a sense of worth and a solid work ethic that remains in me today.

In today’s times when nearly half the country’s population is not working, but subsiding on guvment programs for housing, food, phones, cars, and education; it’s no wonder foreigners want to come to America.

Free education, three free meals in school, free clothing, free transportation, free room and board, and free health insurance, all lend themselves as enticements for individuals to visit the United States, and never leave.

Former president Barack Hussein Obama, the great Constitutional scholar, manipulated that stellar document by passing Executive Orders until his pen ran out of ink.  Today, those illegal fiats are being walked back in an effort to comply with the law.

But self-centered politicians and law-breakers are now creating something they call sanctuary cities.  California is actually attempting to make the entire state a haven for criminals.  Brilliant!

Keep in mind that those aforementioned exuberant marchers and protesters invariably carry signs indicating their disgust with all the racism, hate, bigotry, xenophobia, Islamophobia, and Nazis in the White House.  America is so repulsive; they want a thorough house-cleaning from the top-down.  DACA representatives, call your office.

They further want to coddle those illegal aliens – called so because they illegally trespassed into our country – to stay and be given immunity from deportation.

This is where I get confused.  If America is so awful a place with the prejudice and chauvinism running rampant, why do these protesters want their illegal buddies to stay?

You’d think they would all help one another to pack their stuff and leave this dreadful place, post haste.

Then again, I’m looking at this scenario from a patriotic working man’s point-of-view.

Close Your Left Eye

Years ago, on black and white television, there was a popular game show called What’s My Line?  It was a cute display of stage and screen actors and actresses who were attempting to make the transition into the new media, TV.

The premise of this show was to have four star and starlet panelists ask questions of a guest whose job was a secret.  After each failed round of questioning the guest would garner $5 cash.  Five bucks was a lot of money back in the early 1950’s.

A maximum amount of $50 was awarded if no one could guess the profession of the guest-at-hand.

This was so long ago that the host and panelists regularly smoked pipes and cigarettes, and the women panelists wore gloves, the men wore suits.

Some of these contestants include a woman who made wigs, a man who brought an 80-member banjo band, and a set of five twins from one family.  These contestants were selected to make mirth and challenge for the astute idols on the panel.

But one fellow struck me as a bunch of baloney.  He was a small, slender man with a dark (remember it was in B&W,) suit who seemed somewhat shy.  This folically challenged gentleman answered all questions politely and tersely.

Alas, the panel was at a loss to guess the occupation of this middle-aged fellow.

Then, his secret was revealed; he made eyeglasses for chickens.  Yep.

This was not true, I thought. 

Each year, in January, I make a pilgrimage to my eye doctor.  She goes through a series of tests – first testing one eye, then the other by holding a card in front of the non-subject peeper.

Then I place my face into a steampunk-like contraption that places varying strength lenses, to which I respond as to their clarity.  Eventually, I pay my $125 and get a prescription for new glasses that will allow me to read highway speed limit signs.

Which is why I found the chicken eyeglass scenario a total scam.  I have never know a chicken to complain about their vision, or squint to see their food.  Nor do I know if these glasses come as bifocals.

So it was this truckload of curiosity that drove me to the internet.  I searched “chicken eyeglasses.”

Indeed, I stand corrected, again.     

These devices are somewhat misnamed.  They are more in the vein of chicken blinders.  Evidently, these little plastic items are placed on the beaks of chickens in large flocks.  This ocular device prevents the chicken from violently pecking its neighbor chicken while feeding.

I did not know that chickens would literally kill one another over marigold petals, but evidently they do.  Hence the chicken eyeglasses.

In case you’re interested, they sell, in bulk, for about a dollar a pair.  Styles are limited, though, and there are none offered in tortoise shell.

I learned something new, again.