humor

Maggotty Mayhem

See my sister’s camper. It comes with all the niceties, great queen-size bed, comfortable furnishings, plush carpeting, lots of storage, and great appliances. After her last trip out, she unpacked her clothes, and after ensuring the camper was hooked to power, left her freezer stocked for the next trip. She’d need all those things next time for sure.

imageAs she packed for this trip and opened the freezer to put in some more goodies, she discovered the tragic aftermath of a power outage leaving her with the putrid remains of her previously frozen food mounded up with writhing maggots. The frisky, fat maggots seized the opportunity to leap for freedom all down the front of her shirt, leaving her awash in foul juices and previous generations of incarcerated maggots.  When her son called in the middle of the fiasco, he was appalled to learn such valuable fishing bait had been Continue reading →

Tips for Brightening White Towels: My Experience

Bud says I am stubborn.  It’s true.  Once an idea occurs to me, I can’t get rid of it! Since the kids are long gone, I decided to treat myself to some white fluffy towels a couple of years ago. No problem since I would be totally in control.  These towels would never languish on the floor, under the bed, or touch mascara or muddy shoes.  They’d never wash a car or wipe spaghetti sauce off the sofa.  Time passed.  They got dingy.  I didn’t like them anymore.  I started sneaking into Bud’s bathroom to get his luscious green ones, but  I couldn’t get the white ones off my mind.  Surely, I could fix them. They couldn’t be bleached, so I tried non-chlorine bleach.  That didn’t brighten them at all, so I decided to bleach them, anyway.  What did I have to lose?

So I bleached them. They went from dingy gray to a dull hen poo poo muffledy dun.  Those towels were disgusting, sort of like they had been wiping shoes, smearing mascara, washing the car, and wiping up dog vomit with.  I tolerated them for a while, then checked the internet for a solution.  I needed to boil them in a solution of dishwasher detergent, vinegar, borax and detergent.  Sounded like a lot of trouble, but I really wanted them white again. I mixed the concoction right up and put my towels on to boil.  I boiled them for about thirty minutes, frequently punching them down.  I believe this was the high-tech method used up until folks got washing machines.  The water turned an ugly brown.  It must be working!

 

                 

Eventually, I finished them up in the washer.  Meanwhile, I’d made a real mess of the kitchen.  The sink was full of pots, the stove a sloppy mess, and the floor tracked up.  It didn’t look like I’d done a deep cleaning just yesterday.  It only took an hour to get back to where it was.  My back still hurts.

            

In the picture on the right, you can see the result of all my hard work.  Aren’t those colors bizarre?  Some of the towels remained plain dingy gray.  Others took on an ugly, rusty hue.  The big surprise was, some turned a pale pink. I am partial to dingy gray, but that’s just me.  Does anybody out there need some ugly towels?  They’ll be perfect to  wash the car and wipe mud off the dog.

Wait!  I just saw two more things to try.  Laundry bluing is supposed to brighten dingy clothes up.  Sunshine bleaches!  Bud is going to have to put up a clothes line!

 

 

Guaranteed Safest Survival Guide to Your Holiday Season

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Christmas Nightmare with Evil Larry

christmas-santa-boy-define-goodMy brother just called to remind me of his troubles with our cousin Larry, the bane of his existence. Larry was probably the only reason I had to be glad I wasn’t a boy when I was a kid. Thanks for that, Larry. Larry was fifteen months younger than me, falling right between me and Bill in age. Back then, our families had lots of overnight visits. Poor Bill was stuck sleeping with our cousins Larry and Tory, both power bedwetters. Though it was remarkable that Bill hadn’t wet the bed since he was a baby, when Larry and Tory visited, they both arose in the morning accusing him of drenching them. Naturally, they both helped themselves to Billy’s clean underwear in the morning. He still recounts the horrible sensation of sleeping between them, feeling that initial warm, then slightly stinging feeling that quickly cooled to the shock of awakening in a puddle. It must have been awful for kids who wet the bed to have to sleep over in the days before protective pants. Thank goodness for the advances that saves kids’ precious dignity and pride today.

However, Bill’s major complaints weren’t about the innocent concern of Larry’s bedwetting. He was a malicious kid, who reminded me of nothing more than a rat. First of all, no one wanted him around. Secondly, his personality revolved around his urinary habits. Not only did he wet the bed, he ran around with his pants unzipped so he could sneak up and pee on other kids. The fastest kid around, he normally escaped before we could catch and mutilate him. I learned to anticipate him and beat the crap out of him if he got close to one of my younger siblings. I recently saw him after fifty years. He told me he was so scared of me when we were kids. I assured him that was the plan.

He didn’t seem to need friends, his social needs seemingly satisfied by his constant meanness. We used to joke that he would wind up on the Pea-Farm, the local penitententiary, which he certainly did.

One Christmas, Bill managed to slip into Mother’s walk-in closet and discover his major Christmas gift, a magnificient electronically controlled car. It was huge, probably more than two feet long. He’d turned on the light and was quietly playing with it in the closet when Mother sought him out and caught him in the act. She played out her big guilt act, “I hope you enjoyed yourself, because you’ve just ruined my Christmas. I am taking that car back tomorrow!”

Of course, Bill was just sick with guilt and loss, like he was supposed to be. On Christmas day, he was overjoyed to find the wonderful toy sitting under the tree, after all. Since Christmas fell on a Sunday that year, the kids couldn’t miss church that day of all days. He didn’t get to play with it then, just admired it and put it away till after church. Mother stayed home to get Christmas dinner going. Daddy stayed to make sure she did it right. The invading hoard of relatives descended before we got back. Though we had carefully locked all our loot away, the evil Larry had gotten a hair pin and picked the lock on Bill’s door. He found his precious car apparently just as he’d left it, except, when he tried to run it, nothing happened. When he turned it over, all the wires had been snatched loose from their connections. The only time he’d gotten to play with it were those few guilt ridden minutes in the closet.

More about the evil Larry later. There’s far too much to end it here.

Guys Can Be Blonde, Too

Two workmen had been sent to measure the height of a flagpole, but it was too high for their ladder. A fair haired girl passing by asked what the problem was and thought she could help. Producing an adjusting spanner (wrench/ crescent??) from her bag she loosened a nut, removed a bolt and they lowered the pole till horizontal. She produced a tape measure, told them it was 32 ft 6 ins. After the pole was upright and the bolt replaced she left. Typical blonde grumbled one of the men. We need the height and she gives us the length.

What do you call a blonde who’s dyed her hair brunette?

Two blondes fell down a hole. One said, “It’s dark in here isn’t it?” The other replied, “I don’t know; I can’t see.” 

Blonde: “What does IDK stand for?”
Brunette: “I don’t know.”
Blonde: “OMG, nobody does!” 

There was a blonde, a redhead, and a brunette. They were all trapped on an island and the nearest shore was 50 miles away. The redhead swam trying to make it to the other shore she swam 15 miles, drowned, and died. The brunette swam 24 miles, drowned, and died. The blonde swam 25 miles, got tired, and swam back. 

Q: Why can’t a blonde dial 911?
A: She can’t find the eleven. 

A blonde and a redhead have a ranch. They have just lost their bull. The women need to buy another, but only have $500. The redhead tells the blonde, “I will go to the market and see if I can find one for under that amount. If I can, I will send you a telegram.” She goes to the market and finds one for $499. Having only one dollar left, she goes to the telegraph office and finds out that it costs one dollar per word. She is stumped on how to tell the blonde to bring the truck and trailer. Finally, she tells the telegraph operator to send the word “comfortable.” Skeptical, the operator asks, “How will she know to come with the trailer from just that word?” The redhead replies, “She’s a blonde so she reads slow: ‘Come for ta bull.'”

Funny Elf Jokes for Adults

An Elf, a Human and a Dwarf, all old friends, are sitting at a tavern,
talking about the night they had with their wives…

The Human smirks as he says “Damn, but I had fun last night. I banged my wife good last night, about seven times… When we woke up this morning, she told me she loved me and was going to make my favorite meals all day..”

The Elf looks at him, then smirks and responds “Well, I only made love four times to my wife last night, but each time was like a new ecstatic experience. When we awoke this morning, she said we’d spend the rest of our days together and would surprise me again tonight..”

The Dwarf looks at them both and snorts, drinking his beer silently.
After an uncomfortable of being stared at by the other two, he finally says “Fine, fine.. My wife and I had intercourse once last night.”

The other two blink, until the Elf smirks and asks “Pray, tell us what
she said to you this morning..”

This time, the Dwarf smirks and says “She said.. Please, Honey, don’t
stop now…”

He Axed for It

Man splitting log in half for fire wood with ax

Man splitting log in half for fire wood with ax

It’s hard to imagine why, but all Billy asked for that Christmas was an ax. That’s not a typical item for an eleven-year-old to ask for, but he stuck to his guns. The ax was his only request. Christmas morning he got up to find the tree mounded up with presents, but no ax shaped gifts, though it’s hard to imagine how one might expect to see an ax wrapped. After a few tension filled minutes of searching, he spotted the old broken ax that had been lying out on the wood pile the night before. Whoever was playing Santa tricks hadn’t even bothered to buff the rust off the head or knock the dried cow manure off the cracked handle. It lay carelessly against the brick hearth where it had been tossed at the last minute. Bill was sick. He looked at Daddy’s stern face, “You didn’t really think you’d get something dangerous as an ax, did you?”

His Christmas was ruined. Daddy let him suffer a minute of devastation before pulling the age old trick. “Well, if you look behind the tree, you might find…………” Of course, it was the ax of his dreams, complete with a bright red bow, probably the only ax delivered that Christmas morning. He was delighted! He had to hang around long enough to open the rest of his gifts, including the obligatory item he needed, new shoes for school. He endured a safety lecture before bursting outdoors to try his ax.

He had a glorious time for several days, chopping everything in sight. After he seemed like he might have the essentials down, Daddy put a pretty sharp edge on it, thinking he understood the danger now. Big mistake. He just had time to build up a little confidence. He took a whack a log. It rolled. He whacked again. It rolled again. He steadied it with his foot this time. Hitting his foot with a glancing blow, he was horrified to see a cut on the side of his show. Knowing there was no way to hide the damage to his shoe, he headed for the house, ready to face the music, ax still in hand. He came into the living room. “Mother, I cut my new shoe.”

She blanched. “Did you cut your foot? Take off your shoe and let me see!”

“No ma’am! I just cut my shoe, but you can take it to the shoe shop and get it sewn up.”

“Don’t worry about that. Just take off the shoe and let me see about your foot!” He should have left it on. When the shoe came off, it looked like the side of his foot came with it.  Blood gushed all over the floor. “Oh, My Lord! Somebody get me some towels! We gotta get to the doctor!” My aunt and her boys were there. The women scooped him up, Mother holding pressure, and my aunt driving. In the brief time they were gone, I was left to watch her four-year-old twins, Corwin and Kelvin. Corwin in particular was skating maniacally around in the huge puddle of blood like he was a Rockette at a Macabre Radio City Music Hall. Not only that. Corwin was so horrible, he had to be prevented from hurting my younger sister who were also in my charge.

Thank God, Daddy met the women just down the road. He and Mother took Billy on to the doctor to be stitched up. This freed Aunt Essie up to come back and clean up her little hellions after their blood bath. Naturally, she left the blood for me to clean up. At least she got her monstrous twins off the premises.

Amazingly, he’d sliced neatly through the ball of his foot, missing bones and tendons. Though he had dozens of stitches, inside and out, it healed beautifully, with no problems.

Later that evening, he lay on the couch, foot elevated on a pillow. He’d had pain medication and finally felt well enought to eat. Mother felt awful for him, so had made oyster stew, his favorite. She brought it to him on a tray table, so he could eat without moving. That would have been wonderful, had she not maneuvered just perfectly and whacked him directly on his bandanged foot, rewaking his screaming pain.

Our budget being what it was, that shoe did go to the shoe shop to be mended. Bill was restricted to crutches, so Mother borrowed a set from a friend. The fly in the ointment, was that one of them lacked a safety tip. Mother really meant to get a replacement, but time got away from her. It probably wouldn’t have mattered except for the ice storm the night before he started back to school. He hobbled out toward the bus, managing pretty well till he hit a patch of ice with that slick crutch tip. He went flying head over rear, landing in icy mud, skidding the rest of the way to the bus. For what it was worth, he got an extra day of vacation.

Recently, I asked Bill why in the world he’d wanted that ax. We had just moved onto a farm of one-hundred twenty acres, all uncleared.  Daddy set to clearing the land, he cut the trees and it fell to me and Billy to pile the brush.  Naturally, Daddy didn’t let us near the power saw.  Billy wanted the ax so he could clear the smaller stuff and avoid some of the brush piling. I should have asked for an ax, too.

Hilarious Christmas Lists to Make Your Christmas

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A Spoonful of Sugar

goat poopI think I’ve mentioned my cousin Corwin was interesting. He was still hauling his bottle around when he started school. His teacher made him leave it at home, so first thing after getting off the bus, he’d get his bottle out of the cabinet, fill it up, and enjoy it along with his after school snack. A hearty eater, he’d grab up a handful of Gravytrain Chunks out of the dog’s bowl as he headed out to play football with his big brothers. As a crawling baby, Corwin had started shoving the puppy out of his bowl and just kind of got hooked on Gravytrain. It added a interest to the game to see Corwin playing football with his baby bottle sticking out of his back pocket. One of his brothers or cousins invariably snatched his bottle and ran, passing it on to whichever kid was new to the game. The chase was on. Corwin carried a grudge to the bitter end and picked up a stick or rock and bash the bottle thief’s head in long after the game of “Keepaway” concluded. His older brothers felt this bit of info was on a “need to know” basis, so new kids had to find out the hard way.

When he was about five or six, Corwin decided it was funny to pee the space heater. He’d fall all over himself to beat his mama in the front door, drop his pants, and spray the open flame with a stinking deluge that spattered, steamed, and spewed up the whole house. As he sprayed from side to side, kids would be scattering to avoid the stream. Should he have any ammo left, bystanders got it. His mother made a token protest, followed by, “I don’t know what makes that boy act like that.” Daddy told my aunt he’d hooked an electric shock to the heater, so Corwin would be electrocuted. She believed Daddy, so made Corwin give it up. I was sorry it wasn’t true.

Corwin was horrible. We all hated him. To make a long story short, Corwin was so darned mean, nobody would have stuck up for him. About that time, Daddy brought in some goats. At any rate, when Corwin saw goat pills littering the yard, he thought, they were chocolate M&Ms and gobbled quite a few before he noticed the taste was off. My brother and I made sure he had all he wanted. Seemed like justice.