I Went Hunting in the Bushlands

Sometimes men have to do things they don’t really want to do all for the benefit of their marriage.  Okay, many times we must do these unpleasant things.  All right, often it seems that marriage can be just one uncomfortable thing after another.

Recently, I did something for the first time in my life in an attempt to please my wife.  I actually went to a nursery and landscaping store to buy some shrubbery for my wife’s birthday.   Now you must understand I am not a horticulturalist.  I am probably a horti-counterculturalist.  I am not interested at all in bushes or shrubs.  I don’t even notice them unless they grow so much they get in my way or they start to die.  At which time I say astute things to my wife such as, “That shrub needs trimmed,” or “That bush looks likes its dying; maybe you should do something.”

So, why did I find myself anxiously looking over a large selection of greenery?  Two years ago the township decided to clean the drainage ditch at the side of our yard for the first time in 19 years.  They came out one day without warning and completed the task.  They had the option of clearing all vegetation within five feet from the ditch to give their equipment proper clearance.  Fortunately, to get to our ditch they could have gained access by clearing only about a foot of foliage.  Unfortunately, they decided to take the whole five feet.

My wife had spent years getting that part of the yard just how she liked it.  It was beautiful, even to a horti-counterculturalist like me.  My wife was livid.  She wanted to scream at our trustees.  Of course, screaming wouldn’t bring back the plants and such, so I offered to pay for professional landscapers to redo the area next year.

But my wife didn’t take the deal.  Probably a combination of principle (Why should we pay for someone else’s stupid behavior) and personal feelings (This is my yard and I will deal with it.)  However, what was left of the bushes and shrubs after the township massacre started to regenerate.  Just like when we suffer a setback in life and think the situation will be horrible forever, it does get better over time.  In this case, the bank actually started to fill in wonderfully.  It looked great except for two noticeable gaps.

Of course, men are great for closing gaps.  We don’t like gaps.  Gaps are bad.  So, I made the decision to buy my wife some shrubbery for her birthday, and thus I stood in the middle of this garden store with nary a clue as to what I needed.

Fortunately, Brad soon appeared to assist me.  Brad was a handsome, strapping young lad, and I’m sure the local women enjoyed having Brad tend to their bush and shrub needs.  But Brad was not just “beefcake,” he was very knowledgeable about his products.  Of course, my questions were limited to, “How big does that one get?”  I selected a holly-type bush, and Brad suggested I get a male and a female.  Apparently, these plants engage in some type of procreating activity.  Who knew?  I must have missed that lesson in biology class.  I had no idea how they accomplished this, but they must do it after dark because I have never, ever, witnessed this hot action and am sure I would remember if I had.

So, I got the two holly “love” shrubs and bought a Korean type plant just in case my wife did not like the other selections.  You

might say I bought the third plant literally “to hedge my bet.”  Har, har, double har!

When my wife saw the bushes, she was not pleased.  We have our own domains in this marriage, and by my purchase, I had crossed into my wife’s landscaping territory.  I knew that was a risk but thought that I had the benefit that it was a birthday gift going for me.  I was wrong.

She looked scornfully at the holly plants and said I wasted my money because she could easily transplant some from her mother’s yard.  I’m thinking, “If this was so easy to do, why wasn’t it done at any time in the last two years?”  Of course, I don’t say this out loud because you don’t stay married for 30 plus years by actually saying every thought that comes to mind.  Do you?

I had prepared for this outcome however.  I had told Brad that my wife might not like my choices, and he assured me the shrubs could be returned if not damaged.  So, I calmly presented the receipt to my wife and encouraged her to take them back and get what she wanted.

Secretly, I hoped that she would keep them.  I had made the trip to the nursery, and I had actually put some effort into my choices.  In addition, for some strange reason I was growing fond (har again!) of the Korean one.  Now there would have been a time that I might not have wanted my wife to interact with that plant-stud Brad, but it wasn’t an issue now.

I believe after the shock wore off, my wife realized that I had tried to do a good thing, and she decided to plant the bushes.  She ignored my advice not to plant the Korean one on the north side of the property.  My concern was that a North Korean plot would turn into a communist plant, and I knew from old movies how damaging a communist plant could be to your operation.

So my wife is happy.  I am happy.  And the bushes appear to be enjoying their new home.  I don’t know if the male and female have engaged in, well, nature type activity yet, but I’m sure they will when they get to know each other better and the time is right.

This first appeared as a guest post on my good friend H.L. Gibson's webpage  http://hlgibsonauthor.com/ Please check it out sometime!

A Jarring Controversy

There is a big dust up at my alma mater The University of Akron.  Seems they spent $950,000 renovating the university-owned house for their new president and then the guy comes in and up and fires 161 employees. 

This got the college community in an uproar.  And if that wasn’t enough, someone made a jarring discovery, a literal jarring discovery, which further enraged the masses.  A review of the itemized expenses on the renovation project shows the purchase of a jar of olives that cost $556.

I thought people were overreacting way too much about this.  I am a member of the “cooler heads” because it is said “cooler heads prevail”. I am one of the coolest heads around and I never overreact about anything, so I gave them the full benefit of the doubt.

There are a couple simple explanations why someone would pay $556 for a jar of olives. Maybe they bought them at the warehouse club and there was like a million of them in the jar.  So this, in fact, was a great deal.  They might be planning on including these olives as free appetizers during university

functions.  I love olives and you know how I feel about free appetizers, so this would be a very prudent use of funds in my opinion.

Another explanation might be that these are very special, exquisite, gourmet olives.  Grown in exclusive, organic, groves in southern Greece and fertilized by the dung of massaged, coddled, Kalamatatian, sheep.  You can’t really judge the cost until you taste these olives now, can you?  If you feed these delicious, magical, olives to donors and they write you huge checks, then $556 is a true bargain.

But then I found out that this was not a jar of olives, but an olive jar, an empty olive jar.  My reaction of course was calm and reserved.

ARE YOU FREAKIN’ NUTS? YOU PAID $556 AND NOT ONE FREAKIN’ OLIVE?  DID YOU BOTHER TO ACTUALLY LOOK INSIDE THE JAR? THERE ARE NO OLIVES! NO OLIVES! I REPEAT, YOU GOT NO OLIVES. WHO IS THE MORON WHO PAID $556 FOR AN EMPTY JAR AND DIDN’T GET A SINGLE OLIVE?

THIS IS AN OUTRAGE! THIS IS MALFESCENCE! MALFESCENCE I TELL YOU. I DECLARE SHENNANIGANS!

It turns out the jar is a Greek, antique, ornamental, piece selected for the master bedroom by a hoity-toity interior designer hired for the restoration project.  The designer defended this choice in the press by saying:

“This is a decorative piece, something nice to have in the corner of a room.”  I’ll tell you what is something also nice to have: A JOB! And 161 people now don’t have one!  Poor Phil is now explaining to his wife why his job got replaced by an olive jar!

“It’s like a plant” There’s an idea for you, buy an actual living thing. Probably could get one for 50 bucks.

“It cost less than the original plan”.  Well thank you for being economical and budget conscience.  I know you were tempted to go for that larger $1250 jar, but you didn’t. Nice job on that one!

“It is used to fill a spot in the corner of the room.”  Thank heavens that spot is now occupied. If that space had been left vacant, a migrant family may have found it and set up camp.  It is never a good thing to have strangers living it your bedroom. This would have been embarrassing to the university, not to mention a disruption to the marital-type relations of the president.

There were other extravagant expenses on the list also. Including a $3,172 curved TV, $1000 counter stools, $1,800 mirror and $838 make-up chair.  All these are big wastes of money, except possibly the make–up chair.  Perhaps if you are butt-ugly you might need to apply make-up in a chair with magical powers made of wood from the Peruvian Rainforest in order to transform your appearance.

The house also reportedly now has a remote-control shower.  I have no idea why you would need this.  Maybe if the shower area is large. And maybe you couldn’t reach the handles, because there was someone in there with you and perhaps your hands weren’t free. Oh my! OH MYYYYYYYYYYYYYY! Okay, forget I even said anything about this one.  

This is like one of those reality home remodeling shows except in this one the couple has no budget so they spend money like wild until they collapse on the couch, the imported, hand-crafted, designer, couch. It should be called: Say Yes To Excess

So workers get canned, jars get blamed, and I can’t contain myself.  Next time, please check to see if the jar you are buying actually contains any olives, you idiots!

Women Go “Nuts” Over Me

The first thing I noticed after finding my seat, were the three stunningly beautiful flight attendants on the plane.  I had to check my calendar and make sure I was still in 2015 and had not time travelled back to the 1980’s.

For those who are too young to remember, all stewardesses, as they were called then, were young and babelicious in the 80’s.  In fact, it was a requirement for the job.  But then job discrimination laws came into play and the airlines had to drop that requirement.

First they hired attractive older women.  Then it was any woman, then males, and finally even straight males. Now, anything goes.  I was on a flight earlier this year with the largest flight attendant I had ever saw.  She was a large woman, so large she had problems moving through the aisle sideways.  If there was an emergency that required me to slide past her to get off the plane and save my life, I had resolved that I was going to die.  She had a backside that Sir Mix-A-Lot would enjoy and I got to experience it up close and personal when she leaned over to talk with someone seated across the aisle.  If this encounter had happened in another venue, I would have been expected to tip her a dollar. 

But Whoaaaa Nelly, was this flight going to be different than that one. Three outstanding babes! Wooohooo, sis boom bah, schwing, homina , homina, oh baby!  Blonde, brunette and black-haired beauties,  it’s a trifecta baby!

However there would be flirting with these flight attendants, there would be no ogling; there would be no leering, no staring. I would be careful to not even make eye contact.  I would be on my best behavior (Yes I have a best behavior; it not that good, but it’s the best I got).  Because as luck would have it, this wasn’t a business trip.  I was traveling on vacation and my lovely wife was seated very close next to me.

Now it was going to be easy for me not to flirt with them.  I mean it’s just not in my nature to act that way.  I find this behavior unacceptable, unprofessional, and demeaning to women. That’s why I have never engaged in this conduct in my entire business career.

Okay, unless the woman was smoking hot, then maybe some…. Uh, okay maybe if she was just fairly attractive, just a little….

But if I did flirt, let me assure you that it was classy and very respectful to the women involved.  And if you don’t believe me, just ask any woman that I ever worked with. (Jennifer and Jan if you are reading this and someone asks you about me, it would be great if you could just deny ever knowing me, okay Honeycakes?)

So everything on the plane was going great until it was time for the three babes to pass out the snacks, which consisted of peanuts and pretzels.  I happened to be seated at the end of section where the ladies had divided up the plane for snack distribution.  When the blonde babe got to me, she looked at me apologetically and explained she had run out of pretzels and asked if I would like two bags of peanuts instead.  I smiled and nodded. I was famished and the peanuts are more filling.

When she saw that I liked getting the peanuts, she playfully tossed me two more bags. At that moment the other flight attendants finished distributing their snacks and were standing nearby.  When they saw the blonde tossing me peanuts, they also joined in the fun and started tossing their leftover peanuts in my lap as well.

I felt like a monkey at the zoo and I guess I could have been offended, except I was really hungry and when you have three gorgeous beauties showering you with gifts, you just go with it.  I mean who could possibly have a problem with that?

Well, I will tell you who.  As I sat there with 16 bags on peanuts in my lap, I turned to look at my wife and was met with an icy glare.  “Did you flirt with her?” she inquired bluntly.  I instinctively tossed her a couple bags of peanuts as a peace offering, ridiculously thinking this might appease her and then answered an emphatic, “No”.

“You winked at her, didn’t you?”, she continued.  I then started to explain the pretzel situation, but that was met with the look that every husband gets at times. The look that says: “I’m not buying what you’re selling. It would be best for everyone if you shut up now.”  So I shut up and ate my peanuts.  I thought the peanuts were supposed to be free, but I sure was paying a high price for them.

For some reason it seemed much colder on the plane the rest of the flight.  In fact when we deplaned in Fort Myers it was the chilliest 92 degrees I have ever experienced in my life.  It’s not a good thing when your wife thinks you have the charisma and charm to just wink at a hot woman and she eagerly give up all her goodies to you.

I know people will find this story hard to believe, so as evidence I present the one bag of peanuts remaining after I consumed the rest on that flight and the connector.  The only other evidence I could have obtained would have been to

Oh I got a treat all right!

take a photo of those luscious stewardesses.  Of course that would have been the last photo I would have ever taken in my life.  It would also have been the last photo ever recorded on that iPhone, the iPhone6.  So I decided against a photo.

But this whole incident is just a major misunderstanding.There was no wink!  No winking, no flirting, no nothing!  It is so unfair that even when I try to do well, even when I exhibit exemplary behavior, that circumstance and reputation ruin these efforts. It happens all the time! I’m always innocent!

So for the record: I swear I did not wink at that woman.  I did not engage in a winking relationship with her. I was not making googly eyes at her.  You believe me, don’t you Jennifer? And Jan, you’re with me on this, right?  Jan? , Jan?

I Wear My Speedos To The Beach

There are some very dangerous encounters happening on beaches this summer.  And I’m not referring to shark attacks in North Carolina, no; I’m talking about middle-aged and older men parading around in very skimpy swimwear.  This is figuratively a shark attack for your eyes, and once that image is burned in your brain, it is oh so tough to erase.

What do aging guys do this?  It serves the same purpose as sports cars, gold chains, too much cologne and toupees (some losers even shave their heads), it is a feeble attempt to prove to the female species that you still have something desirable to offer – “You’ve still got it”

Unfortunately you have to fish with the bait you have, not with the bait you want, or think you have.  But these guys are not master baiters (well maybe they are) however they are making a statement: I’m still relevant as a man, so I’m putting my manhood out on fully display!

However, these men strutting on the beach look so confident and liberated I thought it might be fun to try it myself.  So I ordered some Speedos before my vacation trip to Sanibel Island.  I was shaking as I opened

My new Speedos have arrived!

package. I tried on my new Speedos and the fit was skin tight and they looked really good on me.

So I wore my Speedos on the beach and I wrote a little poem to commemorate the occasion. (Exclusive, revealing photo at the end of the post!)

I Wear My Speedos To The Beach

I wear my Speedos to the beach

Then I hear the women screech

I wear my Speedos to the beach

I wear my Speedos in the sun

Please rub some lotion on my bun

I wear my Speedos in the sun

I wear my Speedos by the pool

So all the ladies see my tool

I wear my Speedos to the pool

I wear my Speedos when I strut

And wiggle my impressive butt

I wear my Speedos when I strut

I wear my Speedos to the track

Move so fast they're up my crack

I wear my Speedos to the track

I wear my Speedos when I can
Cause I'm such a sexy man
I wear my Speedos when I can

I wear my Speedos in the sand

Scratch myself with either hand

I wear my Speedos in the sand

I wear my Speedos in the heat

Showing off the Grade-A meat

I wear my Speedos in the heat

I wear my Speedos everywhere

If you're offended, I don't care

I wear my Speedos everywhere

I wear my Speedos by the sea

So those chicks can ogle me

I wear my Speedos by the sea

I wear my Speedos when I jam

Makes them hunger for some ham

I wear my Speedos when I jam

I wear my Speedos in the light

It fits my body oh so tight

I wear my Speedos in the light

I wear my Speedos every place

It is never a disgrace

I wear my Speedos every place

I wear my Speedos cause I'm hot

Cause maybe I still have a shot

I wear my Speedos cause I'm hot

I wear my Speedos to the park

Love to make those bitches bark

I wear my Speedos to the park

I wear my Speedos when I rock

So everyone can see my cockatoo

I wear my Speedos when I rock

I wear my Speedos to the beach

But keep my beefcake out of reach

Yes, I wear my Speedos to the beach

And yes I did wear my Speedos to the beach!

MY NEW SPEEDOS BRAND WATER SHOES

And here is the photo I promised!

Don't stare at it too long ladies, because those ankles are very sexy, no?

(I’m very sorry Margo, I know you were expecting so much more)

With apologies to Dr. Seuss.  If I could find someone to illustrate this poem, I could have my second book. And then follow it up with: One Thong, Two Thong, Red Thong, Blue Thong.

His Name Is DAAAAAAAVE!

Writer’s Note: This blog post evolved from a Facebook posting.  Kori and Carrie wanted me to write about it and you don’t tell these women “No”.

I was engaged in conversation at our annual family picnic, when we were suddenly interrupted by the enthusiastic exclamation: “My name is DAAAAAAAAAAAVE!” I looked over to see a guy in a tank top, 70’s style hair, excessive tats, and large goofy smile, eagerly extending his hand.  I shook it and introduced myself, not quite as loudly though.

I had not seen this dude before and I wondered to myself if one of the women folk had made a questionable choice of new suitors.  Of course I am wondering who he is, but I’m not going to ask for fear of hearing “My name is DAAAAAAAAAAAVE!” again.    

He anticipates my question though and says, again enthusiastically, “I’m not even a member of this family”.  Now if I was crashing a family gathering for let’s say free beer and food, I might keep it on the down low , but apparently this is not Dave’s style.

We engaged in some small (very small) talk and at one point Dave mentioned that we knew a woman who had breasts the size of my head.  Now I do have a large head, it needs to be big to house my large brain and it is shaved. But I don’t appreciate having it compared to a woman’s breast and the gleam in Dave’s eye when he looked at my head, frankly made me very nervous.

Dave soon left and I found out that he was indeed crashing the party.  He lived in the campground next to the park where we had gathered.  Carrie later informed me via Facebook that Dave had pulled the same stunt last year and labeled him “The serial, drunk, family reunion, party-crasher”.

We tried to resume our previous conversation but were repeatedly interrupted by loud outbursts of “My name is DAAAAAAAAAAAVE!” as he introduced himself to others standing near to us.

But I do have to admit, Dave knows how to network and work a room.  I can forget people’s names within seconds of being introduced, but not this time! His name is DAAAAAAAAAAAVE! No business cards needed here!

As I observed Dave though, I realized he had violated one important networking rule.  He was, as we say in my old neighborhood, $h!+faced drunk.  I would say he had one too many free beers, but in reality, he was feasting on the free beer. 

I wasn’t too happy with that but then Dave’s big moment arrived.  For the first time ever we decided to get a group family photo.  Of course the problem with group photos is the person taking the picture is not included in the photo.  But now we had a perfect solution! Non-family, party-crasher, Dave, would take the photo.

Dave enthusiastically seized this opportunity. I think he felt some remorse about consuming all the free food and beer.  He thought if he was able to help us out and take the photo, then it would be a fair trade.  He would have earned his keep.

We gathered around, happily anticipating this photo opportunity. Dave with a big smile on his face joyfully framed the group on his camera phone and shot four pics.

Of course not one of these photos turned out. Because Dave was $h!+faced drunk.   And so we all learned a valuable lesson that day:

“Never let the most drunk person at your party take the group photograph”

These are truly words to live by.  We violated this rule and now we have no group photo, and coincidentally, there was no leftover beer.

We Have The Right To Good Chinese Food (RUU)

A woman who lives near me just made the national news because she called 911 to complain about the poor quality of the Chinese food she received from a restaurant.  She told a dispatcher the food was “not up to par for her liking”.

Many people are laughing at this woman for this action and others are scorning her. But before you judge her too harshly, I have a question for you: Who was she going to call?  She’s staring at a plate of bad Chinese food?  Who can she call?

The food critic at the newspaper? Newspapers are downsizing and that guy was let go ten years ago.  Even if the paper still has one, he is more interested in swirling wine at the new bistro than helping you with bad Chinese food.

Call your mom?  That won’t work.  She will tell you to be quiet and “eat what is put in front of you” also “there are millions of starving Africans who would love to have your meal”.  Now mom might offer to cook you a nice, hot, meal, but not Chinese food.  Moms make terrible Chinese food.  It would probably consist of crappy Chun King stuff and be even worse than the Chinese food you are complaining about.

The BBB is no help.  It was late in the afternoon when the incident happened and these people would probably “file a report” and get back to you in six months.  So who was this poor woman going to call? If not 911, who?  Who I say?

You may claim this was not a crisis situation.  But consider the woman was expecting a great Chinese meal.  She wanted to savor the crispy vegetables, the tangy sauce, the tasty meat, all on bed of fluffy white rice. Instead she is served something “not up to par for her liking”.

This is a tragedy. Someone facing that type of situation might become violent and might take out their anger against poor, innocent, bystanders. Some of which could be children, elderly, or pregnant – or maybe even all three!  Now did you ever consider this? Well, before casting judgment I think you should.

The police issued the woman some trumped up charge of “misusing 911”.  What I want to know is this: What was the restaurant charged with for serving this lousy Chinese food that I repeat was “NOT UP TO  PAR FOR HER LIKING”?  Maybe if they were held accountable for their actions, next time the moo gai pan might be up to par.

I know you may disagree, but just remember this post the next time you are served Chinese food which is “not up to par for your liking”.  I think we can all agree that we have the right in this country to eat good, good, Chinese food, with eggroll.

Mosquitoes Want The Authority To Suck Your Blood (RUU)

I immediately noticed a very alarming and disturbing sign posted along the road near my home.  Apparently the mosquitoes have banded together to form something called the “Mosquito Authority”.  There is no way that mosquitoes should have any authority over anything.  I’m guessing they are claiming they have the right to suck our blood.  This is “animal rights” run amok.

Also extremely troubling is the fact that the mosquitoes have developed an actual website to promote their cause. Who knew mosquitoes were so tech savvy? The website is unashamedly called bugsbite.com !  Bugs bite? No $h!+ Sherlock.  This gives the impression the mosquitoes are very proud of themselves and is a blatant attempt to justify and normalize such wanton activity.  I would access the site but I’m afraid my computer my get encephalitis.  

Now I know that any schmuck can have a website these days (as donake.net clearly illustrates), but this site enables the mosquitoes to communicate and plan strategy with other radicalized mosquitoes around the world. They can trade biting techniques and get-away methods.  It also allows them to raise money to pay their attorneys.  And you know they have blood-sucking lawyers, like the ones doing TV advertising TV at 2 a.m.

Mosquito logging on to bugsbite.com

If they have a website, they no doubt have a Facebook page where they and their friends can collect millions of “likes”.  They can post photos of their conquests and comments: “Had some good Italian tonight” (under a photo of a guy named Luigi) and they can also post maps where humans have gathered for cookouts.

Well I just want to go on record of saying that I do not respect this so called “mosquito authority”. You do not have a right to bite me; you do not have the right to suck my blood.  Furthermore, if you try to exert your authority, be warned, I will take action against you. I will swat you hard with the intention to kill you.  I will swat you viciously and I will swat you all repeatedly until you are all dead.

In addition, if necessary I will utilize chemical weapons to defeat you.  I realize President Obama opposes the use of chemical weapons, but believe me; I will use all repellents and insecticides at my disposal to stop and destroy you.  If the President threatens me with economic sanctions, so be it.

So mosquitoes, you may claim you have authority over me, but I in fact have authority over you and you must respect it! So just try me you blood-sucking bitches! Just try me! You’ll be sorry you did.