Day: August 21, 2024

The Case of the Mysterious Spotted Dog Murder

Our life with Annie, our surly, farting Dalmatian was complicated by her partner in crime, Greg, the ever-present kid from across the street.  I use ever-present in the strictest sense.  Greg’s mom worked nights.  In a casual relationship never addressed by any of us, Greg made a beeline to our house as soon as he got home every day, hit the pantry for a snack, and let Annie out of prison.  Greg was well known for investigating our premises, keeping himself abreast of what all that was going on at our house, while he dawdled about, picking things up, questioning, “What’s this?  When did you get this?”   We’d chat about his day.  Afterwards, he and Annie would go off on a ramble, since we lived in a rural neighborhood with many large wooded areas. They were a common sight, known all over the neighborhood.

At any rate, one afternoon he and Annie stumbled on a construction site, just as a human skull was unearthed.  Naturally, the ensuing hub bub was tremendous. With law enforcement and news crews arriving, Greg and Annie managed to be front and center, part of the big story. Greg was ecstatic, carrying the news all over the neighborhood, taking full credit for the entire situation.  Anxious to milk the situation for all it was worth, Greg made a hasty trip back to our house to retrieve a gag item of my daughter’s, a dummy arm and hand intended to hang from the trunk of a vehicle, giving the impression of a body is in the trunk.

Returning to the wooded area near the site of all the excitement, Greg tossed the “arm” to Annie, initiating her favorite game of “keepaway.”  Annie burst from the woods, arm in her mouth, ripping through the yellow crime scene tape.  Greg was right behind her, yelling his head off. It was like a scene out of a Monty Python movie. Annie, no novice, at being chased by shouting strangers, headed home, dragging the incriminating arm.  Winded, she scratched at the back door, still clinging to her prize.  Shortly, she was followed by Greg and a bevy of law enforcement officers, asking to see the arm.  She’d hidden in the bedroom, reluctant to part with such a desirable prize, but I brought it out for their examination.  I was so glad not to be Greg’s parent that day.

Oh, the skull turned out to be that of a Native American who’d probably died more than one hundred years before.

Not Quite the Proverbial Turd in the Punchbowl

Pooping with Brian

Clothilde

Where did your name come from?

Linda was the second most common girl’s name in 1950, bested only by Mary. Every classroom was populated with Lindas and its rhyming cousins, Glenda and Brenda. I wasn’t ashamed to be Linda.

I when I got older and learned I’d been threatened with the horrific name, Clothilde, I was grateful to be just plain old Linda. I was one of four girls. Each time a daughter was born, Daddy offered up his favorite girl name, Clothilde. It seems that when he was a starving child growing up in the depths of The Great Depression, his family had share-cropped on the farm of Mr. Ward. Daddy forever remembered his daughter, the beauteous Clothilde, hence, his love of that name.

No matter what my mother ever did or will do to me, I will be forever grateful she didn’t let Daddy saddle me with the name Clothilde!

First Grade School Picture

Slipped Away!

This story seems to be too complicated to be true, but it is. It looked like my mother had to tried to set my dad up but she was never organized enough for this. Daddy had worked graveyard shift, so was settling in for his day sleep. The last thing Daddy told her before lying down was that he was expecting a “man to come see him about a dog.” Knowing Mother had business to attend to that day, he was expecting the man to honk his horn to wake him.
Expecting Daddy to sleep a while, Mother took the opportunity to finish waxing the hall before leaving. Sure it would be dry before Daddy had to get up.

Her waxing done, Mother headed out the door. When she got to the end of the two-hundred-yard long driveway, Mother’s path was blocked by a complacent cow. Frustrated, Mother edged closer to cud-chewing old Bessie, who regarded Mother sagely. Bessie was unconcerned. Not to be bested by a cow, Mother laid down on the horn till Bessie got out of the way.

Meanwhile, back at the house Daddy lay lightly snoozing, mindful that he was listening for the horn-blowing signal of his friend. Hearing Mother’s distant horn blast, he jumped out of bed, struggled into his pants and launched down the recently waxed hall. It was slick as a gut. Head over heels, he slid the length of that hall on his butt, only to get to the window just in time to see Mother’s car disappearing in the distance. Muttering angrily, he headed back to bed.

Later that day, Mother arrived home just before Daddy’s visitor. Seating the man, she put the coffee on before going to rouse Daddy. Headed down the hall to wake him, she was surprised to see the wide unwaxed stretch right down the middle of the hall. The timing probably saved her life. When Daddy launched into the story of of the trap Mother had set and his perilous slide down the hall, his buddy laughed so hard at him, they all had a big laugh.

That’s probably the only thing that saved Mother’s life.

Jokes

Daily Joke: A man and an ostrich walked into a restaurant

Rachael Rosel

Oct 26, 2020

“I’ll have the same,” says the ostrich. Source: Getty.

A man walks into a restaurant with a full-grown ostrich behind him. As he sits, the waitress comes over and asks for their orders.

The man says: “I’ll have a hamburger, fries and a coke,” and turns to the ostrich, “What’s yours?”

“I’ll have the same,” says the ostrich.

A short time later the waitress returns with the order. “That will be $6.40 please,” and the man reaches into his pocket and pulls out the exact change for payment.

The next day, the man and the ostrich come again and the man says: “I’ll have a hamburger, fries and a coke.”

And the ostrich says: “I’ll have the same.”

Once again the man reaches into his pocket and pays with exact change. This becomes a routine until late one evening, the two enter again.

“The usual?” asks the waitress. “No, this is Friday night, so I will have a steak, baked potato and salad,” says the man.

“Same for me,” says the ostrich.

A short time later the waitress comes with the order and says, “That will be $12.62.”

Once again the man pulls exact change out of his pocket and places it on the table. The waitress can’t hold back her curiosity any longer: “Excuse me, sir. How do you manage to always come up with the exact change out of your pocket every time?”

“Well,” says the man, “several years ago I was cleaning the attic and I found an old lamp. When I rubbed it a genie appeared and offered me two wishes. My first wish was that if I ever had to pay for anything, I would just put my hand in my pocket and the right amount of money would always be there.”

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“That’s brilliant!”says the waitress. “Most people would wish for a million dollars or something, but you’ll always be as rich as you want for as long as you live!”

“That’s right. Whether it’s a gallon of milk or a Rolls Royce, the exact money is always there,” says the man.

The waitress asks: “One other thing, sir, what’s with the ostrich?”

The man sighs, pauses, and answers: “My second wish was for a tall chick with long legs who agrees with everything I say.”

A young woman went to the doctor

A young woman said to her doctor: “You have to help me, I hurt all over.”

“What do you mean?” said the doctor.

The woman touched her right knee with her index finger and yelled: “Ow, that hurts!”

Then she touched her left cheek and again yelled: “Ouch! That hurts, too.” Then she touched her right earlobe. “Ow, even that hurts!”

The doctor took a second to examine the woman before standing back and making his decision.

“Ah yes, I know what it is,” he said. “You have a sprained finger.”

Two elderly women were driving in their car

Two elderly women were out driving in a large car. Both could barely see over the dashboard. As they were cruising along they came to an intersection. The stoplight was red but they just went on through. The woman in the passenger seat thought to herself: “I must be losing it, I could have sworn we just went through a red light.”

After a few more minutes they came to another intersection and the light was red again and again they went right though. This time the woman in the passenger seat was almost sure that the light had been red but was really concerned that she was losing it. She was getting nervous and decided to pay very close attention to the road and the next intersection to see what was going on.

At the next intersection, sure enough, the light was definitely red and they went right through and she turned to the other woman and said: “Mildred! Did you know we just ran through three red lights in a row! You could have killed us!”

Mildred turned to her and said: “Oh, am I driving?”

A Hog a Day Part 18

Photo shows girls dressed in styles reminiscent of dresses I wore in  the 1950’s

children wearing pink ball dress

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Church clothes were special.  Starch was the order of the day: crisp shirts for Daddy and Billy, frilly homemade dresses for the girls, shirtwaists for mother. While still wet from the wash, clothes were dipped in a dishpan of boiled starch and allowed to almost dry before being rolled in a tight ball and stuffed in a pillowcase in the freezer till time to iron. Should she miscalculate drying time, Mother sprinkled them with water from a stopper-topped coke bottle. I magnanimously gave her that sprinkler top for Christmas one year. It cost fifteen cents. Ironing was a huge job, so we had to hang up those fancy dresses the instant we got home. Tossing one in a heap on the bed or floor ensured real trouble. The rough armhole seams felt like razors if Mother forgot to crumple them before ironing. Even though I hated dresses, I have to admit they made an impressive show worn over full petticoats. Those lace and beribboned petticoats were a wonder to behold, way fancier than the dresses that covered them.

When I was little, before school started each year, we got five new dresses, most often homemade or rarely ordered from the Sears and Roebuck catalog. Billy got five shirts and three pair of pants. Besides that, we might get a gift of clothes at Christmas and Easter. I thought clothes made an awful gift. As kids were added to the family, the budget was stretched tighter and of course, we got less. Until I reached sixth grade, we could wear pants to school, a great boon on the playground and on cold days. The cold wind sailed under skirts, making frosty days a misery.

Dresses on the playground cut down on the fun of monkey bars, slides, and swings. I feared hearing boys sing out, “I see London. I see France. I see Linda’s underpants!” One day, I had the horrifying experience of catching my skirt tail at the top of the slide and reaching the bottom in only my slip and bodice, the red skirt left flying like a flag at the top. I was the object of hilarity as girls gathered round me to hide my shame as I skulked in for the teacher’s assistance. I expected her to send me home, but no. She pinned that skirt roughly back on and I had to finish out the day looking like a ragged sack of potatoes. A few times, I’d have a sash ripped off playing chase on the playground. Boy, was I in for it when I got home in a ruined dress! Three-cornered tears were the worst! Unlike rips, they couldn’t be mended.

I was always delighted to see someone else suffer a wardrobe humiliation. One Sunday evening, Brother Robert taught a class of young people before evening worship. Right off the bat, we noticed his open fly. I never paid such close attention to a lesson before, struggling not to look. I kept my eyes on his face, as did the rest of the class. He was a stern man. No one dared tell him. The instant class was over, he marched straight to the podium making ready for his sermon. One of the deacons did him the kindness of tipping him off. With a shocked look, he spun to zip his pants to the amusement of the choir filing in behind him. He had nowhere else to turn. It was lovely.

One Sunday morning a few years later, my sister Connie provided the entertainment for the service. She was sitting proudly near the front of the church with her new fiancé and his little niece, Amy. Connie was lovely in a beautiful yellow, spring dress. As the worshippers stood for a hymn, little Amy slid behind Connie, grasped the tail of Connie’s dress, and raised it as high as her tiny arms would reach, giving most of the congregation something truly inspiring amazing to consider, for which God made them truly grateful.