Your bit of weekly irony.
I went on a road trip this past weekend and ended up in the neatest little town ever. Anyway, I was actually trying to find a store there, and regardless of the town being a throw back to the early 1900s and being about as big as a thimble, I couldn’t find the store. So I stopped to get directions.
I was originally going to use it as an excuse to go into the furniture store/gun shop just so I could say I’d been in a furniture store/gun shop, but it was closed. So I stopped at the next public place… a church. There were a few cars there, so I figured someone could help me. I go up and try the door, locked. So I decided to knock.
Someone answered, they happily gave me directions, and I was on my way. As I was leaving the lot, I noticed the sign.
Folks… I knocked on the door of the Jehovah’s Witnesses. How’s that shit for irony?!
Death With Humor
So my family has this thing where everyone goes and pays for their funerals and all that while they are still alive, this way the ones they leave behind don’t have to pay for anything or even think about anything.
My parents went today to make arrangements for a payment plan toward both of their funerals. They decided to be cremated without a viewing or anything like that. Just simple. Ashes go to me, no urn, ashes are to be scattered. Which I’m glad about, because as much as I love my folks, I really don’t want them in bottles up on the mantle.
Mom will get scattered in a garden, dad’s getting scattered at the beach.
Anyway, they’re doing all kinds of things. Mom is going to have “Disco Inferno” played while they’re pushing her into the furnace. I told her I would have chosen “Ring of Fire” by Johnny Cash, but whatever floats your boat.
Not to be outdone, dad listened to all the things they can do with the ashes, things like turning them into diamond jewelry (creepy!). When the guy’s done, dad asks if his ashes can be made into a road side bomb to be placed in Afghanistan along a road heavily traveled by Taliban. The guy glares at him and says no, so dad says, “OK, I’ll settle for a mortar than.” LOL!
I told mom I want a Viking funeral.
If that can’t be done, I want to be cremated and have my ashes turned into shot for a 12 ga. There is a company that does this. I want it done. LOL! And I shall be loaded into the home defense shotgun of the friend or family member of my choosing. If they can make me a 20 ga., I can go to whoever gets “Shotgun Bob.” 🙂
However… someone is drinking beer out of my boots at my funeral. It must be done. Any takers? I wear a size 12 cowboy boot, so it could be a real party. LOL!
When the Time Comes…
I don’t know how it came up, but some of the guys were talking about what they want done with their bodies after they die. It was getting a little deep, so I decided to tell them my plan.
When I die… I want to be taxadermied, in the “attacking bear” stance, maybe with a duck or rabbit in my teeth, and propped up in the living room for display.
At least it would be a source of conversation!
And no one would be surprised if I actually requested it, that’s the silly part. LOL!
The Car Frog
I was leaving for work on Friday morning and got into the car to start my routine. Normally I will get in and open my iced tea and my granola bar so I can have breakfast on the road. I began doing this, reaching over to my bag on the floor for my iced tea.
It was at this moment that I had the weirdest moment of recognition with another being that I’ve ever had. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something was right. So I looked up. On the divider by the windshield was the resident tree frog. He lives in the yard, and we routinely see him hanging around various areas of the outside of the house. We don’t bother him, he doesn’t bother us, and we all live happy as he eats the bugs that head for the porch light every night. He’s just a little green tree frog, rather cute, really.
But I looked slowly, and the tree frog was turning his head toward me just as slowly. I had just realized he was inside my car… and he just realized I was, too. I jumped out of the door, just from being startled, and at that exact moment, the little tree frog went bazerk and began leaping into the window.
Come on, man! Let me drive!
I collect myself and decide my course of action. Huge idea! Lets grab the giant pink Hello Kitty window shade that is folded up on the floor and direct him with that toward the open door! Boy, I’m sure my neighbors won’t think I’ve completed lost my marbles if they see this!
He finally leaps from the dash to get away from the huge mass of sparkly pinkness and lands on the passenger seat. And he soon realizes the door is wide open and makes a leap for it.
And, being the softy I am, I chased him down the driveway and onto the lawn. Just so I wouldn’t run him over when I pulled out. Yet another chance for my neighbors to think I was off my rocker.
As to how said frog got into my car, I don’t think we’ll ever know. I don’t know how long he’d been in there or how he entered. Windows up all night, no weird gaping holes in my car, nothing. Just a small, apparently brilliant little tree frog who managed to get into my car on a below average temperature evening.
Now if you could just stay out of my car, that would be great. You can, of course, come back and eat the bugs by the porch light. Little guy hasn’t been around since this happened.
No… Dear God, NO!
I was at the gym tonight, finishing up with a shower. As I am in there rinsing off the shampoo and trying to keep the shower handle from randomly sliding down to scolding hot, I smell what can only be described as liquified death.
My first thought was that the woman in the next shower stall had farted. That is not unheard of, and yes men, women do fart.
Then I looked down and almost died. The woman in the next stall had actually taken a huge dump in the shower.
I am not even kidding.
And then she tried kicking it down the drain.
Normally, I get dried off and dressed in the outer part of the shower stall instead of prancing around the locker room naked, but I made an exception tonight. I grabbed all my stuff and ran like hell out of that shower stall.
And folks wonder why I get so irked about folks getting into the stall right next to someone when there are 20 other empty stalls available. This. This is exactly why. While the shower stalls have walls blocking them off, they are similar to the stalls of a public bathroom… open on the bottom so you can see feet. There isn’t anything there stopping you from sharing shower water with the stall next to you. And that’s fine after a pool class when the entire class is in there using every stall. But we were the only two people in the shower area tonight.
And she apparently decided the shower was as good as the toilet and let loose.
I got dressed quickly and exited the locker room because now the entire locker room was completely skeevy to me. I went to the front desk to turn in my locker key and alerted the woman there to what had happened. That could be a biohazard situation, in all honesty. She was almost as disgusted by it as I was. I was within splash range, so I totally win the disgusted battle, though.
Ya know, seriously. There is this wonderful thing called being a civilized human being. And there is etiquette I wish folks would use in the locker room.
1. If most of the stalls are open, avoid getting into one next to the only person in the showers.
2. Don’t do your bathroom business in the shower. And I don’t care which one it is you have to do. It isn’t that far of a walk to the toilets.
Those two are very important, even though there are many more.
Yeah, That’s Right
Another vintage post…
We were discussing past jobs at work today, and I realized something.
Since being down here I have spent 3 years constantly swimming in cash. I then spent 7 years completely surrounded by guns. And now I am up to my eyes in beer.
The guys just looked at me with that look in their eyes. So I smiled and said, “Yeah, that’s right. You want my life.”
Because you folks don’t know me well yet, let me explain.
The three years swimming in cash… I was an armored car messenger.
The seven years surrounded by guns… I was a manager/sales rep for two different gun shops over seven years.
The beer… I am working for a beer distributor.
Apparently, I’m just short of being my own personal ATF.
The “Sh!t That Only Happens to me” File
Vintage entry. Background story… I got myself a new job – which, oddly, I still completely love – but had to go get background checks done for their files. Here is what happened.
So I went down to get my background checks done and was told they had moved the operations down to the detention center instead of the sheriff’s department, so off we went. We get there and my mother and I go in.
This is when we are greeted with the scanner, similar to the airport. We had to put our purses on the line and go through a metal detector.
I go through and wait for my purse, not thinking anything would be an issue, when he stops the belt and looks real close at the screen. He then asks me what is in my purse. I think quick and know for damn sure I didn’t bring any weapons with me. So he turns the screen and I get a good look as well.
It was about this time that realized everything in my purse – which isn’t much anyway – had shifted to one side and piled up into what can only be the beginnings of my things revolting against me. What I saw on the scanner was, pretty much, a Ka-Bar knife. Now, I haven’t actually carried a Ka-Bar since the first gun shop I worked at. I own three of them, but they are put away with my other knives and out of use. And the only time I ever actually carried the Ka-Bar anyway was one day when we were all poking fun at another employee. So I have no reason to believe there would be a Ka-Bar in my purse. But there on the scanner was what looked like a Ka-Bar in a sheath.
That’s when I noticed a piece of it looked a heck of a lot like my cell phone.
Somehow my cell phone, my wallet, and my electronic cigarette got together, in their separate layered compartments of my purse, with a few other items, and formed what looked like a huge knife to me and the cop looking at my things in the scanner. So I took my purse and upended it onto the table so he could see everything that was in it. Again, not much.
But my electronic cigarette wasn’t done revolting.
He took it and had a good long look at it and had to get it approved by his supervisor because he was unfamiliar with it. Next he took a hold of the black container holding the extra pieces for it – batteries, cartomizers, an extra bottle of nicotine juice, and the kicker in the kit… the syringe.
I never even thought about it. In my defense, I didn’t think we were going to a detention center today. But there is a blunt tipped syringe I carry to help with refilling the electronic cigarette when I’m not at home.
He looked at me funny, so I took the cap off the tip to show him there was no point on it. It isn’t capable of being a drug delivery syringe. I mean, if you really slammed that thing home I’m sure it could be, but it would feel like hell. He took it and had it approved. I was in the clear, allowed to go in with all my belongings and wasn’t going to get checked into the detention center today.
My mom, on the other hand…
Mom’s looking at me like I am crazy because I forgot about the syringe (and I’m not sure she knew I had it, either) and was going to get us arrested.
But as she’s ending the look the cop looks at her and tells her he can’t allow her to pass and enter the detention center. I was free and clear. But mom forgot to leave her pepper spray in the car. I raised an eyebrow at her as she backed out of the scanner.
Priceless.
True Story, Bro 