I worked in the yard today, and after doing so I sat down and had a glass of wine.
The day was really quite beautiful, and the drink facilitated some deep thinking.
My wife walked by and asked me what I was doing, and I said, “Nothing.”
She then said, “That’s what you did yesterday!”
I replied, “I WASN’T DONE , SO I’M IN THE MIDDLE OF FINISHING RIGHT NOW.”
The reason I said “nothing” instead of saying “just thinking” is because she then would have asked, “About what?”
At that point I would have had to explain that men are deep thinkers about various topics, which would lead to other questions.
Finally I pondered an age old question: “Is giving birth more painful than getting kicked in the nuts?”
Women always maintain that giving birth is way more painful than a guy getting kicked in the nuts, but how could they know?
Well, after another glass of wine, and some more heavy deductive thinking, I have come up with an answer to that question.
Getting kicked in the nuts is more painful than having a baby, and even though I obviously couldn’t really know, here is the reason for my conclusion.
A year or so after giving birth, a woman will often say, “It might be nice to have another child.”
On the other hand, you never hear a guy say, “You know, I think I would like another kick in the nuts.”
A man walks out to the street and catches a taxi just going by. He gets into the taxi, and the cabbie says, “Perfect timing. You’re just like Frank.”
Cabbie: “Frank Feldman. He’s a guy who did everything right all the time.
Like my coming along when you needed a cab, things happened like that to Frank Feldman every single time.”
Passenger: “There are always a few clouds over everybody.”
Cabbie: “Not Frank Feldman. He was a terrific athlete. He could have won the Grand-Slam at tennis. He could golf with the pros. He sang like an opera baritone and danced like a Broadway star and you should have heard him play the piano. He was an amazing guy.”
Passenger: “Sounds like he was really something special.”
Cabbie: “There’s more. He had a memory like a computer. He remembered everybody’s birthday. He knew all about wine, which foods to order and which fork to eat them with. He could fix anything. Not like me. I change a fuse, and the whole street blacks out. But Frank Feldman could do everything right.”
Passenger: “Wow, what a guy!”
Cabbie: ‘He always knew the quickest way to go in traffic and avoid traffic jams. Not like me, I always seem to get stuck in them. But Frank, he never made a mistake, and he really knew how to treat a woman and make her feel good. He would never answer her back even if she was in the wrong; and his clothing was always immaculate, shoes highly polished too. He was the perfect man! He never made a mistake. No one could ever measure up to Frank Feldman.”
Passenger: “How did you meet him?”
Cabbie: “I never actually met Frank. He died and I married his wife.”
A wine merchant’s regular taster died and the director started looking for a
new one to hire. A drunkard with a ragged, dirty look came in to apply for the position.
The director of the winery wondered how to send him away. He gave him a
glass to drink. The drunk tried it and said: “It’s a Muscat, three years
old, grown on a north slope, matured in steel containers. Low grade, but
“That’s correct”, said the boss. Another glass…. “It’s a cabernet, eight
years old, a south-western slope, oak barrels, matured at 8 degrees.
Requires three more years for finest results.”
“Correct.” A third glass… ”It’s a pinot blanch champagne, high grade and
exclusive,” calmly said the drunk.
The director was astonished. He winked at his secretary, secretly suggesting something. She left the room, and came back in with a glass of urine. The alcoholic tried it.
“It’s a blonde, 26 years old, three months pregnant – and if I don’t get the
job, I’ll name the father.”
Don’t forget the media and Nancy.
Our loyal readers in the Northeast should check their local weather.
All of these weird happenings are looking like deliberate attempts to screw America.
Joe and Obama work hard.
Maybe in 20 years. I hope they don’t catch fire while your family sleeps, and burn them alive, like the Tesla. The Musk satellites are also causing trouble.
The Dept. of Education will probably run this crap on a 12 hour loop, or like CNN at the airports. We love Joe.
Our allies were also left to die in a far away land.
The Tropics Editor: Where are the tropics, LL ? Some of our loyal viewers are from Oregon, where reading, writing, and math aren’t needed for graduation. Geography isn’t taught either. The only way those under 18 can find public buildings is to follow the smoke from BLM’s peaceful protest.
Hurricane Cat: With the hurricane season here we should all be knowledgeable of danger signs & warnings.
Here is how the tropics are defined.
A lot of strange things live in the tropics, one is parrots.
I identify as a gopher.
This song can be about the tropics, about the Americans Joe left to be killed in Afghanistan–who want to come home, and tally-man sounds like Taliban.