On the Pandemic

Why, I remember the dark days of the Hog Swine Epidemic, or some such farm animal, it might have been! Why, there was cockroaches falling from the walls in Biblical numbers that even my son Marvin couldn’t take the square root of, and he’s got one of them fancy calculators you hear so much about nowadays.  No sir. And I want to attest that it DID NOT MATTER that them cockroaches was going on their final reward anyway – but not so much from that Hog Swine or whichever, as from the Missus beginning her morning workouts by finally a-waving and a-spraying Black Flag on our basement walls – and about time, if you ask me.  No, it was the symbolism that was at issue here. 

Them cockroaches could just as easily have been We the People – JUST as easily.  And Marvin just nodded in solemn agreement that yes, we all need to represent the Epidemic’s salacious but putative effect on the populace – that would include you and me – through what he calls, “an eminently graspable metaphor” – his direct words – if we were to absorb the magnitude what might have been or will likely recur sometime – be it in someone’s barnyard or even a crowded soccer stadium, if you catch my drift.  And yes, go right ahead - you CAN quote me or Marvin direct! 

Earth in the Balance

Ever awoke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, wonderin’, wonderin’, wonderin’? Well, I haven’t either. No, sir!  I just don’t go in for that sort of thing. Never have. But I’ll tell you the next best thing – reading a copy of Al Gore’s Earth in the Balance, because by page ten, I can verify it, or, as they say in this man’s army, “I can guaran-goddam-tee-it” – and I mean, with parametric climate-adaptive sensors or without – that I was in the coldest sweat a man ever endured and lived to tell about it. 

I awoke my snoring wife and plumb asked her if she cared about civilization as we know it, because uncontrolled emissions and even bovine flatulence could spell our doom.  She yawned and said that yes, she could spell doom, but wasn’t so sure how to spell bovine flatulence, but that she was damned sure getting tired of mine, and to get to bed.

Before I turned out the lights, I looked out into the ominous night landscape and realized that somewhere out there beyond Peoria, a herd of nefarious cattle was plotting the very demise of Western Civilization.  I hugged my better half extra tight, but was real careful to control my flatulence, because, as they say, every little bit helps.  And if we all do a little, why, we’ll all wind up doing a little.  And that has given me a measure of comfort.

Wrigley’s Romance

The missus and I, well, we’re a couple of cards, if you catch my drift.  Sometimes I wonder if there’s anything she WON’T do. We sat down the other night to watch some Gilligan’s Island reruns and I pops a stick of gum in my mouth.  And just like that, I pops in another. And, heck, pop in another.  My missus looks at me like I was a giraffe or a Hindu fakir or something and says, “Why, heaven on earth, Seymour, what on earth – ” But I beats her to the conclusion of her peroration and pop yet in another.  So, she follows suit.  Pops in one, then another, then before you know it, both of us can’t talk or hardly move our mouths. Then it dawn on me:  I got her just where I want her. So I blow up both of my cheeks and pops ‘em with my hands, while saying, “Pop! Pop! Pop!” “Pop! Pop! Pop!” She’s always been real fast on the uptake and she pops HER cheeks and SHE goes “Pop! Pop! Pop!” to keep up with me. We looked at each other and enjoyed that existential moment or recognition you hear so much about. Now we go through the routine every Thursday night, and dad-burn if it didn’t strengthen our relationship and save our marriage.

Surprising Advantages of the Metric System

Well sir, I’ve been thinking of patenting my new discovery. I just found how your wife – yes, your very darling wife – can lose more weight than she ever dreamed of, and results are guaranteed!! No, friend, this is not a gimmick. (Just don’t go copying my concept without legal permission.) All’s you have to do – I can hardly believe this – is substitute a scale graduated in Kilograms, not in Pounds – and presto, your wife weighs HALF of her fat self. Boy, will she be pleased! And YOU’LL be her hero!

But wait! There’s more! Say, if your mother-in-law lives only twenty-five miles from your home and your wife keeps pestering you to go visit every Sunday during football season… well, yes, I have a dandy solution to that conundrum as well. Switch from Miles to Kilometers – and you got yourself an airtight excuse NOT to drive that far. “Why, Mabel, that’s WELL over FORTY kilometers!” Who can argue with that logic? I dare you!! You WILL get results!

And for those really intimate moments with the Missus, when you fall into a rapture contemplating one another’s private parts, you can whisper your member’s length – not in inches, but in centimeters, which I can guarantee will fall into the teens and thereby earn you permanent bragging rights. I’m telling you now, and I’ll tell you again – going Metric is cheaper than Viagra.  And I don’t need to warn you to call some damn-fool doctor for a result that will last WELL over four hours.  So go on! Amaze her!

Friend, there’s so much more! Just ask for my fully-illustrated booklet which you can peruse in the privacy of your own home. Ah, neighbor, I couldn’t and certainly wouldn’t keep such inventive genius hidden under the basket for very long.  No, sir!  

Now you go on and do what’s right for you!

Dafofa July

I believe we should honor all them who gave up their lives and other choice body parts just so that the rest of us can live under the blessings of autonomous freedom, don’t you agree? So every Fourth of July I invite the in-laws over for my patented barbecued fried chicken – every last lip-smacking one of them. 

When you honor the departed, it’s best to keep a moment of silence. Well we bettered that principle once over again. We don’t say nary a word when we tear those chickens apart. That’s the least can do to show our respect. And I’m here to tell you -- those boys can eat! Those bones pile up all around just like our heroes did right there on the shores of Montezuma.

Boy, I can’t even count the garbage bags we filled up with chicken bones the last Fourth. Why, we plum ran through the whole frigidator and even the spare one downstairs. So I had to pay an emergency visit to Colonel Sanders, himself a war hero, and got back just in time too.

And at the end of the day, when we retire to the back port to watch them fireworks go off, why, all you hear is burbs – sort of like the frog pond out back. It’s so sad to see all the assorted relatives head home after the last ka-pow fades in the sky. But this year I’m determined to keep up the fun year round. How?

Well, every now and again I haul out those bags of bones, open ‘em up, and just feast my eyes on all those ribs and thigh bones and what-not, and relive the stirring moments of yesteryear’s patriotic fervor. It can downright bring tears to a man’s eyes. The missus says, yes, she understands, and that if I feel so strongly about, why to go right ahead, and she’ll support me. 

You know, I’ve heard it said, “You don’t appreciate nothing until you lose it,” well, sir, rest assured I don’t plan on losing these here bags!  No, sir!

Cannonball

I’ll never forget it.  It was a perfect day in July, or it might have been August. Not a cloud in the sky, well probably, but who was looking – if you catch my drift.  I was over at the community swimming pool over in Peoria and, being a reg’lar guy and all, decided to impress the ladies with my patented Seymour Herschfeld cannonball.  They was just too busy spooning out their noodle casserole and what-not, and I figured they needed a distraction.  But no sooner did I jump that I realized, hey, I might a jumped in over my head.  A purple panic (it might have been blue) struck me, and you wouldn’t believe the terror when I opened my eyes and in all them bubbles I could see my life going by, kind of like the credits rolling after a pitcher when you’re too tired to get up and leave.  I hear talk about a peace that overtakes you in them kind of moments, until I realized, hey, I can swim, and straightened up real quick-like, and found myself standing on my own two, in the waist-deep part of the pool. I let out a sigh of relief the missus heard ten feet away.  She said, “If you want your share before it’s all gone, Seymour, get out of that pool.” Well, it was that close!  And like I always say, you can never be too careful.

The Length of Rondomere

Why, one of my nephews seems to possess a genuine knack for math and the hard sciences. Runs in the family, good Norwegian stock.  Just the other day, he was over at the house, and Rondomere, our Weimaraner was dozing on the rug. The nephew pulled out a tape measure - and we thought, what's he gonna do now? And he proceeded the measure the entire length - he wasn't skimping any -- nope, the entire length of Rondomere from nose to tail. Course, when he reached the tail, Rondomere did let out a little growl. But -- wouldn't ya know it -- no sooner did he finish, that he proceeded to measure Rondomere the other way -- tail to nose, and, dad burn it if the two measurements didn't come so close, you thought, now there's a genius at work.  Less than an inch off each way!  And I can swear to that.

Well, after that display of technical know-how, the family looked at each other proudly and the little lady said she was gonna bake us another bean casserole -- because we all knew it without saying: That cousin has a bright future with NASA! Just a question of who's gonna make the first move. I don't mind sayin' it right off the top.