Lazy Thursday Blues: Caption 9

It is once again Caption Thursday! I'll provide a picture and you provide the caption.

As always we need to adhere to good taste. Please keep it clean.

Here's the one to get it started:

Bob's last day on the job!

Stuff I've found this week:

Mentos & Coke

Way cool license plate cover Finally! You can tell them how you feel.

Suffer from a fear of heights? Don't add this to your vacation list

Fun geography test. Yes, I did rather well. I can claim only a slight mistake on Vermont and New Hampshire...

A blogging must have... Comment tracking. co.mments I found this and it is very cool!

Waiting For Microsoft

“Yes can I help you?”

“Please! My server is down and I’m trying to get my Exchange connector service-”

“What is your name?”


“How much time do you have to wait?”

This is never a good sign. I knew it was going to be bad when I called but I had put it off long enough. I had read through my manuals, and scoured the internet newsgroups. I had done everything I knew to do. I had no choice. I had to call Microsoft.

Calling into the largest corporation in the world and asking them for help, has all the makings for a very bad dream, or maybe the good start of a joke. I had run out of options and so I took the plunge. I have logged countless hours on the phone with Microsoft over the years, and it was mostly because some boss of mine insisted. Generally I come away with more questions than solutions, and about $245 less in my pocket.

Calling and expecting instant service is like walking into Wal-Mart and expecting it to be empty. This just isn’t going to happen. So I wait. Some waits are hours, others are days. I called on Nov 21st, and by Nov 27th I still hadn’t heard any word back. So I wait. In waiting I had to justify not working to my boss.

"I can’t leave." I said, "I have to wait or I might miss my call and then I’d rotate back down and have to wait all over again."

There is something about coming into work each morning and realizing your entire productivity for the day is dependent on your faith in a multi billion dollar corporation to call you back and help you. I got impatient. I did one of the dumbest things you could do. I called them back.

“What is your name?”

“Peter Brown.”

“What is your case ID?”

“Look I need some help. It’s been near a week since I paid for this case and I still haven’t heard from a tech. I’ve just been waiting.”

“Sir. You can wait or I could transfer you to our support team in India.”

“No. Please don’t do that! Please. I need the connection department. My users have been down for a week. Do you know how many people I have relying on this server?”

“Sir you are a light mist is the raging sea of software commerce. We will call you when your number comes up. Is there anything else I can do for you?”


“Have a nice day and thank you for choosing Microsoft.”

This is the way it goes when trying to leverage support from a company so large that nearly everyone in the world has at least one copy of a software package that they sell. I ended up getting called yesterday and after about three hours the issue was resolved. All in all I’m happy not because my issue is solved and my boss is happy but because today I will not have to be waiting for Microsoft.

For Security's Sake

Rarely have I come up against an enemy so crafty. I find that there is little for me to do but fret. I have tried all conventional means on this foe. Reason is lost on the uncaring, and shouting to the deaf is without merit. In all honesty the only thing it understands is force. Sheer unadulterated violence is the only way to get your point across to the ever present ever stubborn plastic wrapper.

There are few pleasures in life as fun as unwrapping something. It feels good to know that you're the first person who gets to touch whatever it is that has been sealed. Like a mini birthday party every time you decided to make a ham sandwich or open a roll of paper towels. For the most part this is easy enough and the plastic falls to the floor and you get whatever it is your hoping for. “Just what I always wanted, breath mints!” Some manufactures haven’t quite reach the subtle equilibrium between safety and convenience.

The media wrapping companies are born of fire, and want only for your discomfort and animosity. I must say they are successful. There are few objects on earth that can boil up in me the rage that a minuscule piece of plastic wrapping can. I pour out all my hate bitterness and judgment onto it’s thin cellophane surface to no avail. The DVD only laughs. “You bought me friend, but you can’t play me till you get my teeny tiny wrapper off. Are you even trying?”

Once you decide to go for broke and rip it off with your teeth, the wrapper has already won. It knows at this point you have lost your cool. You have gone from a cheerful happy person with new movie to watch, to caged animal foaming and frothing at the mouth. As you stand there in the presence of your friends and family with slobbery DVD case in one hand, plastic wrapper hanging from your mouth. You smile casually while huffing and puffing with a desperate air of trying to regain your composure.

You go for your prize, the new DVD with deleted scenes, director commentary, blooper reel and introspective on set back story, only to find another obstacle. Three super sticky plastic ‘security seal’ labels covering the edges. The White House doesn’t even have this much security! You almost expect an armed trooper to parachute in and challenge you to hand to hand combat for the privilege of watching the movie that you’re not even sure exists within this labyrinth of traps!

Once you are finally able to watch your movie your memory begins to fade. This is a failsafe mechanism for your brain. Like a safety valve on a propane container. It wasn’t that bad, you think. It’s not the end of the world, and really they do need to keep the media safe. I mean you wouldn’t want them to be easily stolen. Hey maybe tomorrow you could go out and buy that new album you’ve been thinking about.


“So you see how the larger mass represents love and see that smaller bit..”
“The rusted wheelbarrow that’s been welded on?”
“Yes, that represents our journey though life...”

Well it’s official. I’m a lumbering Neanderthal when it comes to my eye for modern sculpture. I wouldn’t be able to decipher the meaning in a bronze crumpled paper cup, or the hulking rusted edifice that stands like a beacon of knowledge at our local junior college. I just don’t understand.

Art used to be a representation of life. When “David” was chiseled out of marble, Michelangelo wanted to represent a man. He went through the painstaking process of making stone look just like a human. When I look at a picture of it, I’m blown away. I can’t even imagine taking chisel to marble and getting anything that looked like a stick figure, let alone a human that you almost expect to take a breath, and shake off all that gray paint.

Modern sculptors don’t need to represent life, that what pictures are for. But that doesn’t stop our fellows. They yearn to make you wonder. They want to make you understand what their soul is saying. All I see is what looks like the wreckage from some huge construction accident.

Believe me it’s not that I don’t want to understand. I do. I yearn for the knowledge of what this person was trying to say. I appreciate their toil. I mean I understand that it isn’t easy work welding several dozen pieces of farming equipment together and placing it on a concrete base. That takes time, dedication and a certain eccentric vision. In the end you want that vision to speak for you. Tell the world what you are, and how you think. To me all it says is, “Tornado?” Besides a tornado I can’t imagine ever seeing a scythe handle and tractor headlight looking like that. It almost hurts my head to think that someone made such a mess. If I were a farmer I might start weeping.

Sometimes it’s not so much that it is speaking to me, but that I look at the sculpture and think, “I could do that. I wonder how much that cost?” There is large rendering of a concrete wall on the grass near my local mall. It has a rugged rough look to it. There is a six inch wide vertical cut in it. They call it art.

All it says to me is, “I’m a large concrete wall with a cut in me, call a repair man!” As I was walking up to it I almost expect the title to read “Break In The Wall” maybe I can make that mean something. The trouble is when I get up close it says, “Tom’s Path To Valor”, or “Midnight Sailing.” Neither of which say, “Concrete Wall” to me.

I suppose it all comes down to taste. If your particular bent is for the modern look, than you're in luck. There seems to be more of it popping up all the time. If however you're like me, an artistic Neanderthal, then you might want to grab your leopard skin and club and travel back to Florence, Italy. It seems there is little place for us left in this world of modern thinking.

Lazy Thursday Blues: Early Edition

Due to the fact that Thanksgiving is tomorrow I've decided to post our Thursday game early. I will let it ride over the holiday. I imagine hits will be low and this will give more folks a chance to play.

Last weeks captions were the best ever!! I was rolling on everyones creativity. I have a few good pictures cached for these games and hope you like todays choice. So for the record, it is Caption Thursday.

As always we need to adhere to good taste. Please keep it clean.

Here's the one to get it started:

All the way to China?!
Yep. All the way...

Digging holes can be fun...

Beware The Shoveller

November 24th is Sinkie Day!! Don't Forget!

Wooden Cigar Store Indian

Mr. Wooden Cigar Store Indian,
Why are you there in front of the store?
All rigid and poised standing next to the door,
Do customers notice you’re there anymore?

Mr. Wooden Cigar Store Indian,
Why is you face all sullen and taught?
No fan of tobacco? I’d guess you were not,
But there’s nowhere to go, career choices are shot.

Mr. Wooden Cigar Store Indian,
So you stand erect, all steady yet calm,
With a mess of cigars shoved into your palm,
You can’t smoke them or take them to your wigwam.

Mr. Wooden Cigar Store Indian,
Do you mind that the kids make light of your dress?
‘Didn't know loincloths were in!’ they confess
What you wear are essentials and they’re not to impress.

Mr. Wooden Cigar Store Indian,
You will stand near the shop as you always have done
Selling your goods, holding fast to your gun
It’s your duty and you’re the tobacco chieftain.

-Peter Brown 2006

Mildly Psychotic

You see them all the time. They pass for the average person on the street. You think they are just like you in the movies, driving in the parking lot, ordering at the restaurant. These people are not the same as you and I. These people are afflicted with a disease. They are the mildly psychotic.

You might not be familiar with this diagnosis, so allow me to explain. The mildly psychotic are not bad people. They don’t mean you any harm or in fact mean to inflict harm on themselves. It’s just for whatever reason they have decided that they will put their good senses on the back burner for a time and go completely insane. Here are a few examples.

Parking lot psychotic. The parking lot psychotic should be well know to all of us. There is something that happens to the human brain when we are adrift in that sea of filled parking stalls. I have often found myself muttering or hollering to the car in front of me. This is semi normal parking lot behavior and somewhat expected. The mildly psychotic person will take it a step further.

If an open spot is seen twelve rows back the mildly psychotic person will stick their head out the windows and holler “THAT’S MINE!!” throw themselves into reverse and weave through the cars to get to that spot. This behavior does two things. Makes enemies with the other drivers, and initiates a domino effect of mildly psychotic behavior in others.

The mildly psychotic person can also be seen in the supermarket, buying up all the four for dollar containers of yogurt so the other customers cannot have any. The mildly psychotic person has trouble understanding that yogurt goes bad, and they cannot possibly eat the equivalent of eight gallons of yogurt, in half pint containers, in under a week. The mildly psychotic cares only for deals and not the harsh realities of a shelf life.

The mildly psychotic person tends to show up frequently at sporting events. There is something about the enthusiasm of rooting for your team that bubbles this behavior to the surface. Here they are easily spotted. Shirtless and painted with team colors holding large foam fingers, jumping and screaming. For the most part they are accepted in this venue.

In fact in someways we all have been the mildly psychotic person at some point in our lives. That person in the restaurant who changes their order four times before deciding on their first choice. The person who wears headphones and sings loudly on the street corner. The mildly psychotic person will realize hours or days later what has happened and then agonize over it. This is different than the severely psychotic person who wouldn’t even care if they did recall.

So remember when you see them on the street picking up all the dirty pennies, or the department store dancing to the contemporary music channel, they aren’t responsible for their actions. They have been possessed by some strange force that will grip us all at some point in our lives. For the moment they are mildly psychotic.

Last Will & Testament

“I thought I’d find you on the balcony. What’s that you’ve got?”

“My will.”

“Your what?”

“It’s my last will and testament. I’ve just come back from my lawyer’s office. I’ve had it all typed up, notarized and formalized. I’m all set to die.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh…. I thought you knew. I’m dying Bill.”

“John. You are not dying. The doctor said he had to run some tests and there was a very slim chance that there was anything wrong with you.”

“Bill, I don’t want you to be sad when I’m gone. I’m leaving you my stereo system…”

“What you really need to do is stop reading that book of fatal diseases. You turn white as a ghost every time you open it. You’re always thinking you have some terminal affliction. I told you everyone’s hands shake after three cups of espresso, it doesn’t mean you’ve got tremors. It means you need to lay off the caffeine!”

“…and my extensive record collection.”

“Additionally I you should cancel your subscriptions to those medical journals. That stuff will turn anyone into a hypochondriac. I think you secretly like believing you’ve got every new sickness they discover in Botswana.”

“I’m also leaving you my dog.”

“John please, just stop for a minute. Listen, I don’t want Butler. I have three cats and I live in a two bedroom apartment. The last thing I need is a great dane. Could you imagine?”

“That’s why I also willed you my house.”


“I want you to have my house at Drewsdale. I’ve also left you all the original artwork and furnishing.”

“What about Sally?”

“She left me this morning. Said she couldn’t be with a man who had the Bubonic Plague.”

“You told her you had the plague? The Black Death?”

“I do have all the symptoms.”

“But why did you leave me your house? What about your family.”

“Bill, you’ve always been there for me, a true friend through thick and thin. I mean you’re always willing to drive me to the emergency room, perform Heimlich maneuvers, check me for a pulse and cross reference symptoms from the medical files. Besides, no one from my family will return my calls and a person as sick as I am doesn’t have time to address letters and lick stamps.”

“I…Well, I honestly don’t know what to say. I mean we're friends John and that’s what friends are for right? Wow, Drewsdale manor. It’s one of the nicest places I’ve even seen.”

“You deserve it Bill and I will have little use for it when I’m dead.”

“My apartment is rather cramped you know. I mean it’s just hard for me to afford much more, finishing up with my degree and all. I don’t have the money for much more.”

“Bill, I want you to know— is that the phone? That must be the doctor, I’ll be right back.”

“Drewsdale isn’t a home it’s a mansion. I can hardly believe this is happening, it’s almost unreal. I mean Drewsdale!”

“Bill!! That was Doc Gibson. The test came back.”

“So…how much time have you got left?”

“I’m fine! Can you believe it! I’m going to live!”


“Turns out I don’t have anything wrong with me, beside an overactive imagination. Just like you said! Isn’t that great.”

“That’s…great…I’m so glad.”

“What’s wrong Bill?”

“Oh, me? Nothing. I’m fine. Say John, did you say the will was all finalized?”

“Yes, why?”


“Doc Gibson? This is Bill, um…Bill Gavin. Yes well, it’s about John…John Appleton. I’m not sure how to put this. Well it’s just he was rather excited when you called and came running out onto the balcony to tell me when he sort of lost his footing…”

Lazy Thursday Blues: Caption 7

Everyones Captions from catapult week were great! I believe I have another good picture for captions. So this week it is once again Caption Thursday! I'll provide a picture and you provide the caption.

As always we need to adhere to good taste. Please keep it clean.

Here's the one to get it started:

Okay everyone, remember where we parked.

Keeping with the theme...

I wish my car did this...

Uh, wow...

Waking up

They say that waking up is hard to do
Now I know, I know that it's true
Don't say that this is the end
Instead of waking up I wish that I were sleeping in again
(apologies to Neil Sedaka)

“Are you awake?”
“Are you awake? It’s 6:30 the girls are up I have to get going.”
“Oh yeah....Of course I’m...”
“I turning on all the lights”

I have a hard time waking up in the mornings. There is something about the time readout on the alarm clock that seems so unreal when my eyelids part after drifting back to sleep. “Got to be to work by 8:00, the clock reads 7:14.” I really should be freaking out by this point but some mornings I just can’t make my body get excited. “Okay...I’ll skip the shave, and sleep till 7:19. If I tie my shoes while driving I might be able to sleep till 7:23”

There are just so many factors working against you each morning. First line of defense for keeping you in bed, is the bed itself. We own a very comfortable bed. It’s a double pillow top. If there is anything I own that has the ability to get me fired, it’s my bed! This combined with my new bizarre dreams are two sure fire ways of keeping me beneath the covers. I have know what happens to the talking donut at the supermarket. I mean did he get eaten by the monkey in the suit or not?

They say you need a reason to get out of bed in the morning. On the weekdays those reason are really hard to come by. I can smell the coffee brewing and it’s nice. But the motivation isn’t enough to remove the sleeping glue from my eyes. It’s hard to not just surrender when your body is willing to glue your eyes shut every night to keep you happy. What is a person to do against such an enemy?!

I was talking about this with a co-worker. We were discussing ways to wake up. Everyone has a method. I heard tell that eating an apple is a better way to wake you up then drinking coffee. I doubt it. Even if it is true I don’t think I could fit an apple in my favorite coffee mug. My co- workers method was a bit more drastic.

Craig told me when he has to get up early, he drinks three glasses of water before going to bed at night. I imagine this works every time. Unless your not fast enough, in which case might I suggest a rubber mattress pad. The only downside I see are lots of dreams about the ocean, waterfalls, and bursting water balloons. A small price to pay for getting out of bed on time.

When it comes down to it I believe it is a matter of will. If you have the will you can get up on time. If you are more like me you will neglect your duties or hygiene for another minute or two of sleep. Either way you have to admit that waking up is hard to do.

Flamingo Fever

There are two basic types of people in this world, people who like plastic pink flamingos on their lawn and people who do not.

Don’t get me wrong I like to see a front yard with a little extra spice on it once in a while. I’m not saying we all have to have the same 20’ x 18.5’ front lawn planted with Bermuda grass and 2.3 inches deep. I’m not for regulation of peoples style. All I’m saying is that it takes a certain type of person to buy a plastic pink flamingo and plant it in their lawn.

When it all comes down to it the single pink flamingo is not doing anyone any harm. If you like it, you should have it. Maybe it brightens up your morning, makes you think about shrimp, or makes you yearn for another vacation to Argentina. It's the folks who get really excited about the little plastic sculpture that I don’t understand.

One time, while en route to our vacation destination, we spotted a sight that I will never forget. It was a house. It was a nice house with a fabulous view from across this gully in a heavily forested area. That was not the reason that we stopped though. We pulled off the side of the road with slacked jaws because all over the house, lawn, trees, shrubs and any open space were pink flamingo stand ups. I believe we counted over a hundred of the little rascals. In addition to all the pink flamingos were a dozen or so red ones, and a single blue flamingo just to add a dash of class.

This person had every right to collect flamingos and litter their lawn with them. I’m not condemning this behavior I’m just asking a simple question. Why? Is it really necessary to have a freaking flock of fabricated flamingos on your front lawn? I have often wondered if this flamingo fever had stopped at the front. I cannot imagine someone who would do this to their lawn having the self restraint to stop at the door. Maybe some pink flamingo table legs? Possibly pink flamingo lamp shades, chairs, oven mitts or Tupperware set. Who can guess.

When it comes to pink flamingos I have to side on the ‘people who do not’ camp. It’s not to say I don’t smile each time I see one, but it’s not that I’m basking in the joy of the creation. It’s more that I’m trying to picture the person who had the nerve to drive to store, pick one out of the garden section and wait in line. Anyone who has that much self confidence is my hero, and the thought of them brings a smile to my face.


“You might be the laziest person I know.”

This was a comment from my wife yesterday in regards to my reasons for not wanting to use the door in the garage. The deal was the car garage door was open and I didn’t want to open the human access door. I envisioned opening the door with a two-year-old child in my arms, locking it and then closing it behind me. I hit the car garage door button and took my daughters life in my hands running under the closing door. I saved at least fifteen seconds and a number of wasted motions. As far as I’m concerned my wife paid me a complement.

There is a story I’m reminded of by the Brothers Grimm. Basically the three sons had to say how lazy they were and the winner got to be king. Now while I have no belief that my lazy tendencies will lead me to govern a nation, I do think they tend to be a service to me. A wise person once stated that necessity is the mother of invention. I believe this statement to be true, but I don’t think it is only necessity that spurs invention. You could say that laziness produced some pretty good stuff too. I would put it more eloquently but we lazy folks don't really care quite as much as others.

I can recall plenty of times in my life where I have put off work to further my pursuit of something more idle. When I was younger one of my duties was to water the garden. My father showed me how, you stand here and sweep the water back and forth for fifteen minutes, then you move here and start all over again. This process was repeated over a quarter acre garden. All in all the process took about forty-five minutes.

If it hadn’t have been for laziness I would have been lost. I put off watering the garden for an hour while I constructed an irrigation plan for the melon patch. It was an elaborate series of ditches starting from a single spot on the top of the mound. I ended up only saving about fifteen minutes but I learned a valuable lesson. If you want a few minutes of time to yourself your going to have to work for it. Make no mistake; working hard on something you do like to put off something you don’t like is being lazy.

I have found that I will spend a countless amount of time trying to find a better way to do a thing if it keeps me from actually doing the thing. Yard work tends to be near the top of that list every time. There is something about racking mowing or weeding that brings out the “Are you sure we should be sweating during this?” attitude in me.

The lazy person will always be looking for a better way, even if they have to take a lot of rest and naps along the way. I suppose we didn’t need the escalator, microwave or electric mixer but I’m glad they’re here. And I imagine we have a lot of lazy people to thank for them.

The Council

“Oh, is it already time?”

“Yes. It’s time and I don’t want you to make a big deal out of this Semra!”

“I’m not making a big deal of it Tay-Lar!! I just didn’t know you were ready that’s all!! I wasn’t aware it was time to destroy all the peoples of Earth.”

“Semra, I know how you feel, like losing a pet, but humans aren’t really conscience of life the way we are.”

“Believe me I’m aware of that! The council has already made its decision and I totally agree with it. It’s just hard, I mean we lived on Earth as humans for nine of their rotations!”

“You know I never felt the same as you. It wasn’t our home it was a mission. It was a simple assignment to Earth to see if the dirty animals were serious about heading to our home world. I mean could you imagine the filthy things on our planet, Mars as they call it? Frankly I’m thrilled to be the one pushing the button and frying them all.”

“I said I understand. Satellites and childish rovers are easy enough to fool with our technology but a landing party is entirely different. We can’t pretend to all be rocks forever… I was just wondering, couldn’t we just tell them they aren’t welcome.”

“Grab a net and catch a clue Semra! You know humans better than that! They’ve been sending out transmissions to the universe for decades ‘Hello we’re here, we love you please be our friends!’ ‘We promise to understand you.’ ‘We come in peace’ Yuck!”

“How can they know that we hate compassion, kindness and understanding? They can’t realize how the simple fact of their continued existence makes our stomachs turn.”

“Are you siding with those grubby toads? Could you imagine them on Mars? ‘Do you mind?’ ‘Will this interfere?’ or how about ‘Please.’ Nine years with those simpering dogs is enough for anyone to be begging to push this button.”

“Tay-Lar they weren’t all bad. What about what about the lawyers? How about the tax collectors, DMV clerks or that fellow who used to call weekly about our mortgage rates. What about the cable technician? Now there was a person who knew how to show total disregard for ones existence!”

“Yes well...there were some bright spots, I can admit that, but mostly it was the tedium of constant pleasantness. I mean it’s not just the smiles, door holding or common understanding. It’s the constant stream of; ‘Are you alright?’ ‘Can I help you?’ ‘Let me know if you need anything.’ Or my least favorite, ‘The customer is always right!’ How much can a body stand!”

“You know they weren’t always like this, they used to be a lot like us. I was reading up on Roman culture, they’re the ones who first called our world Mars.”


“Well, it seems that Mars was their god of war. Sort of ironic when you think about it”

“I guess the Romans knew a bit more about the reality of the solar system then their worthless descendants. Bet you’d never see a Roman apologizing for his exsistance. If someone didn’t like him, he’d have just done what any rational person would and thrash them!”

“Do you think if they knew what was going to happen they would change?”

“Who cares! The second I push this button it won’t matter anyway! Besides you know the councils motto: ‘We are not here to educate, we are here to identify and if needed, annihilate!’”

“Oh well, better get on with it Tay-Lar. Hopefully a more compatible form of life will develop on Earth.”

“If one does I hope they have the sense to stay on their own stinking planet!”

Tool Collecting

Being a male it is essential that I have a toolbox. It is also a requirement that the box is well stocked with any item that a body needs. My toolbox has three drawers and a flip open top. It was a present from my sister. Before that my tools lay in disarray in odd drawers and on tables. This is not the sort of collection you can brag about. I suppose if you want to you draw the analogy; you could almost see tool collecting as a sort of religious obsession.

In addition to the toolbox it is necessary to build an altar to this beacon of manhood. This altar is called a workbench. A workbench is a testament to your building prowess and can also be a source of bragging rights. Buying a bench is fine but it’s bragging rights are different. It say’s I have more money than you and can therefore buy more tools to put on my altar. The tool gods are fine with a purchased altar, but appreciate the toil and frustration that comes with building your own. Tool gods like to see you unhappy; they’re so like that.

I made my workbench from scrap wood that I found in my garage. I smile every time I drive into my garage. It is the only thing that has ever been constructed from the tools in my tool chest. After I build it, I put everything neatly in it’s place and walked away. That was two years ago. Its sole purpose now is to hold up my toolbox and look pretty. I can say without hesitation

“I built that bench, and those are my tools…Yes, in the shiny red box. With all my power tools and electrical cords wrapped up neatly and stacked below.”

My carpentry skills are pretty weak and that’s putting it nicely. Just because I don’t have a use for my tools, doesn’t mean I don’t want more. I have a hard time not purchasing a new addition to my toolbox every time I’m at the hardware store. If something is not added to the toolbox regularly the tool gods will get angry and your nails could rust, or your screwdrivers might get carried away by your spouse, even though she is well aware that her tools are inside, and your tools should never be used for replacing batteries in a child toy!

The tool gods likes power tools the most. Things like reciprocating saws, hammer drills and chop saws. If these items are not within your means then shiny things like socket sets or framing hammers will fill the bill. Of course you can always substitute either of these for gadgets. Gadgets get you extra points with the tool gods and require less frequent sacrifices. Good examples are laser levels, stud finders, digital tire gauges, or 10 in 1 screwdrivers.

The tool gods are jealous of your time and will know if you neglect them. Spouses do not always understand this and you might have to come up with excuses to collect your tools. Believe me in the end it is worth it. You don’t want to your sacrifices to come up short one day and have judgment come in the form of a major house catastrophe. Handy men are expensive, and although you have the tools, you haven’t got a clue how to use them!

Someday In May

Before the moon had gone away
Sometime in the month of May
In my bed I did still lay
I knew from there I’d have to stray
And I could hear my body say
Get up, wake up and start the day

Preferred to stay beneath the sheet
But soon I was upon my feet
And then morning I did greet
Though my belly yearned to eat
Breakfast would be long to meet
For first a task I must complete

And to the shower I did go
In that place where waters flow
To disinfect that smell I know
Bitter grounds for contempt to grow
In folks who let their feelings show
I turned the dial and set it so

I entered in the misty air
Where climate is near perfect there
The water wrapped me as I’m bear
I sang a song and wet my hair
And in that otherworldly stare
I smiled and felt the showers care

But before the task grew old
What happened there must be told
My loyalties that shower sold
It’s waters turned to freezing cold
And of my senses it took hold
Sucking from me all that’s bold

Emerging with a frigid face
Shivering in that lonely place
Reaching for my towel post haste
I wrapped me at a frantic pace
I tried from me the cold to chase
And thus I’ll state my resolved case

When from the shower I did come
My body icy, cold and numb
A simple episode to some
Changed me as a man struck dumb
To misery I did succumb
And this new life of tedium

Nearly eight years have gone astray
My worse fears I can’t outweigh
As for the shower I say nay
I will not venture in the fray
Every since that fated day
Sometime in the month of May

-Peter Brown 2006


“Wait. Stop.”

“What now?”

“Do you really think this is such a great idea?”

“Please do we have to go through this again? I assure you everything will be fine. This is going to be great.”

“I know but I’m the one with the rocket strapped to my back.”

“Last night you said you wanted to do it. You were all jazzed in the car coming out here and you even rushed through getting all setup and ready. But now when I come near you to light the fuse you stop me. What’s wrong with you?”

“I apologize. It’s just that there is a certain weight of reality that comes with seeing a lit match in your hand.”

“I understand, you’re nervous. That fine. Lets talk about it.”

“Thank you. So tell me again what will happen”

“Right, so I’ll light the match and set you off.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Right, so I’ll light the match and start the fuse on the gigantic rocket strapped to your back. That rocket will propel-”

“Where did get this idea again?”

“I told you, from a comic book. That rocket will propel you forward on the roller-skates at a rate of 70 MPH –“

“And where did you get the skates again?”

“From my sister’s closet…I must say I was rather surprised that they fit on your feet.”

“I have abnormally small feet what can I say. It’s a gift. This is great, not only am I going to die, but also I now have to go to my grave knowing I have girl-sized feet. I’m a crazy person strapped to a rocket wearing hot pink “You Go Girl!” roller-skates with abnormally small feet!”

“That rocket will propel you forward on the roller-skates at a rate of 70 MPH towards the cliff-“

“I have to say, honestly, that cliff isn’t doing very much to help calm my nerves either. Why did you decide I needed to propel myself off a cliff?”

“That’s the way they did it in the comic. Besides you’ll parachute down once the rocket wears out.”

“Right. Now it occurs to me I’ve never seen a rocket wear out before. Mostly they explode at the end. Are you sure this isn’t the exploding kind?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Who’s the munitions expert?”

”I thought munitions meant weapons? Am I a human bomb or something?! Will the military shoot me out of the sky if they me? I’m sure they don’t see a lot of a crazy people with abnormally small feet, strapped to a rocket wearing hot pink “You Go Girl!” roller-skates, floating down into a valley with a WWII parachute they snatched from their grandfathers attic! I imagine if they did see me they’d shoot first and ask questions later!”

“Will you just relax?! Look, all you have to do is stay up on the skates till you reach the cliff and then pull the ripcord for the parachute when the rocket is no longer propelling you forward. Got it?”

“That’s another thing. Let’s talk about the parachute. Are you sure you packed it right?”

“Yes. I’m positive. Everything is perfect! I know what I’m doing! I have everything set. Will you please get a grip on yourself so we can get on with this?!”

“Why aren’t you the one doing this again?”

“First, I’m the rocket expert and secondly I didn’t fit in the roller-skates, remember?”


“Come on. Are you ready yet? I got the camera all setup and there is a crowd all gathered down in the valley for your landing. Shoot, I mean, we sold tickets! Everything will be just fine! It will be great! Nothing will go wrong! I promise! Can I please light the fuse!?”

“Sigh…Okay, you’re right. I’m ready. Light me…”

Lazy Thursday Blues: Caption 6

Everyones Captions last week were great! So this week it is once again Caption Thursday! I'll provide a picture and you provide the caption.

As always we need to adhere to good taste. Please keep it clean.

Here's the one to get it started:

Thomas! How many times have I told you not to play with your food?

I've had a few dryers I wanted to do this with...

He's very lucky for all the sand...

Rack this one up for the bizarre...


Everyday it’s the same ritual. I come home and maneuver my car into it’s parking spot. Days that my spot is taken will find me quite off. Mostly it is available and so starts the u turn and parallel parking job. Some days this maneuver is harder than other days, but I always end up in the same place, with the trunk of the maple tree visible through my rear passenger window. I depend on dependably.

I get out of my car and head for the next stop. The mail box. I always get the mail right after parking. I need to feel secure in my routine. I rely on the undeviating rhythm of the afternoon’s duties. Things need to go according to plan. As I open my mail box and grab my three notices of new mortgage rate options, a coupon to Bed Bath and Beyond and the ever present bill I let out a sigh of relief. Now my evening can begin.

There is something about written correspondence coming to your house that is more gratifying than a phone call or email. The first part is simply that each envelope is a mini treasure hunt. Just because the package says “Confidential” doesn’t preclude your finding an advertisement for a new redwood deck, a coupon for free parking at the local Indian Casino, or a pile of money mailed out by some crazy person who picked your address at random. Each notice is a shock of minute excitement and they all build to a crescendo of enjoyment that is sorely required after a long day of the same old thing.

Conventional mail also brings with it certain benefits that are hard to come by with email or the telephone. You can read it at your leisure. While on the couch, standing in the doorway or sitting on the kitchen counter. Unwanted mail is not as annoying as unwanted email. I don’t mind heaps of junk mail the way I do an email box full of SPAM. Wading through the minutia that is removing fake emails from my Inbox is vastly different then thumbing through bright colorful postcards and free samples of baby diapers. It’s pleasant for me to sift through forty-five absurd coupons for floor wax, printed checks or even personalized pet tags. Plus I can open then all without fear of any nasty computer viruses.

Some times even legitimate mail arrives. A card from a friend, an invitation to a party or a three dollar off coupon to “Hank's House of Hot Dogs.” I recall only on a few occasions the sheer misery I have felt upon opening the door of my mailbox and seeing nothing but the nasty glare of bare metal. It’s a defeating feeling and one which I’m not fond of enduring. It says no one cares, not even your creditors. Luckily I can only remember a time or two where this has happened, and once or twice it was because my wife had gotten the mail early. This is a practice that is frowned upon and the action must be substantiated with a very worthy cause. Expecting money in the mail is one of the few excuses that will not warrant some form of reproach.

Sure we get paper cuts, and sure it fills up your mailbox but really aren’t those reasons just a little petty? I have a recycle bin and a club store pack of band-aids, I think I can overcome these road blocks. I say bring on the correspondence.