There were only two people in line ahead of me at the electronics store, yet the wait was dragging on forever. Finally the customer behind me muttered, “Mr. Hare must be on vacation.”
Only then did I notice the name tag on the man at the register. It read: “Mr. Turtle, sales associate.”
News that her third child was going to be a girl thrilled my cousin, who already had two boys. “My husband wants to call her Sunny,” she told me, “and I want to give her Anna as her middle name in memory of my mom.”
I thought they might want to reconsider their decision, since their birth announcement would herald the arrival of Sunny Anna Rainey.
Hoss drove over to the next county to buy a new bull for the farm. It cost more than expected, and he was left with only one dollar. This was a problem, since he needed to let his wife, Sue, know that he’d bought the bull so she could come get it with the truck—and telegrams cost a dollar per word. Hoss thought hard for a minute. Finally he said, “All right. Here’s my dollar. Go ahead and just make it this one word: Comfortable.”
“How’s that going to get your point across?” the clerk asked, scratching his head.
“Don’t worry,” Hoss said. “Sue’s not the greatest reader. She’ll say it real slow.”
Rev up your engines and tell the crabgrass to look out. The 12th annual Mow Down, Show Down Lawn Mower Championship was held in Avon Park, Florida, bringing out the best and fastest in lawn-mower racing. It also brought out some colorful names.
Entrants included: Weedy Gonzales, Blading Saddles, Turfinator, Sodzilla and Mr. Mowjangles.
A policeman looked up to see a woman racing down the center of the road at 100 m.p.h. He pulled her over and said, “Hey, lady, would you mind telling me why you’re going so fast down the middle of the road?”
“Oh, it’s okay, Officer,” she replied. “I have a special license that allows me to drive like that.”
“Oh, yeah?” Let’s see it.” The cop looked at the license and then concluded, “Ma’am, there’s nothing special about this. It’s just a temporary license.”
“Look at the very bottom, though,” the woman insisted. “See? It says ‘Tear along the dotted line.’”
Funny Weirdo Haircuts Drive Us Nuts!
The problem with young people today is that they have crazy haircuts.
In my day, a lad had two choices for a haircut – a crew cut or a flat top and both cost 50 cents. You went to the barber every Saturday morning with your old dad, had your ears raised and were grateful to look like every other kid on your block.
But these young people today. They all want to “express themselves” with their weirdo hairdos!
They walk around with their spiky bangs, corn rows, streaky uplifts, mohawks, faux hawks and wigged out sideburns. It’s a carnival freak show but without the popcorn.
If I had ever come home with a multi-colored mullet and a bum fluff goatee my old dad would have used me as a stump and split a cord of wood on my back.
It’s showy and disrespectful. Plumped and preening like a bunch of randy roosters let loose in a hen house. Disgraceful. I say they should round those damned young people up and sheer them down like the sheep they’re supposed to be.
It’s dangerous I tell you and it leads to anarchy and loose morals. It won’t be long before willy nilly hair styles aren’t enough for them anymore and they start frothing at the mouth, burning down post offices, practicing communism and forcing seniors to sport dreadlocks, rattails, moptops and worse.
And mark my god damned words, when that day comes we are all going to be well and truly sorry.
They have crazy haircuts. That’s the problem with young people today.
Oh God! Young People Need to Toughen the Hell Up
The problem with young people today is that they’re too damned soft.
In my day, young people were tough, damn it. We were gristly, sinewy and hard as nails. My generation was forged in a furnace of fiery parents, sweltering outhouses, creamed chip beef and the type of childhood diseases that either killed you or put some damned hair on your chest.
We had to be hard – conditions demanded it. There was no room for mollycoddling and teenaged slackassery. We couldn’t lie around in our underpants all day levelling up in Donkey Kong and text messaging our idiot friends. We were too busy rendering sheep fat, toting ice blocks and extracting our own teeth for that kind of foolishness. Our “down time” was getting dressed up in flour sack suits and attending the funerals of siblings who had died of dust pneumonia.
But these young people today? They’re marshmallows. And the similarity extends beyond their squishy plumpness and incredible lack of taste. Most have never done a lick of honest work and wouldn’t recognized a calloused palm if you clapped them across the ear with one.
They don’t understand what it means to sacrifice or to go without. For them, sacrifice is eating an unfrosted pop tart, fornicating with an unflavored condom or settling for less than an unlimited phone plan. Take away their cushy duvets, parental fawning and Junior Shopper credit cards and they wouldn’t last 5 damned minutes in the cold hard world.
And they’re emotionally soft too. Call a young person a worthless ninnyhammer and he’ll whinge, cry and fold up like a house of cards just to prove you right. Criticism’s considered some form of abuse instead of what it’s supposed to be – a practical assessment of your obvious limitations and some damned motivation to prove me wrong.
Face facts, this country is deep in the toilet and one flush away from becoming “Runningdoghai” the 23rd Province of the People’s Republic of China. If we ever want to return our nation to its former glory we need to stop raising a generation of spongy cry-babies and get back to work on hardening our resolve, our bodies and our minds.
They’re too damned soft. That’s the problem with young people today.
Sensible Careers – A Joke!
It’s high time we brought back good old fashioned jobs like costermongers, spittleman, wheeltappers, pettifoggers, pig jobbers, quarrel pickers and knock knobblers.
American Barbershop Idol
Surely to God we’ve exhausted this nation’s supply of caterwauling nancy boys and are ready to bring some damned decent singing back to the national stage. Four part harmonies plus straw boaters equals toe-tapping, good clean family fun.
And I don’t mean swearing. I mean putting pen to paper. They may be able to text 80 words a minute but ask them write a sentence longhand and it comes out looking like something a chimp would produce with a pointed stick and mitt full of mashed blackberries.
The Power of Positive Gumption
All this new age, positive-thinking hokum smacks me as being the worst kind of bumph since Clark Stanley sold his first bottle of snake oil elixir back in 1893.
Positive thinking as a means to an end is like the American Dream – it’s fine in theory but really only helpful to those with good genes, rich families and access to a decent education. For everyone else – it’s sleight of hand and empty platitudes.
For 2012, instead of folks assuming they can set their life right with little more than a combination of visualizations, affirmations and positive mental brainwaves, I’d like to see people attempting to set reasonable goals and then achieving them through a combination of hard work, determination and the power of positive gumption.
Enjoy your New Year’s Eve but keep the damned noise down. I’ll be in bed by 9:30.
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