Carnival of The Curmudgeons - Mark Five

A work in progress....I'll have to add to this Mark as the day goes along. I'm in the final stages of packing for a month of chasing the sun, so my mind really isn't into curmudgeonly stuff, but more practical stuff, like "do I REALLY need to take that bulky SOB this time?" I'm up to two check-in rollers and my roller laptop bag, and three of those babies are hard to maneuver in a crowded air terminal. I'm at that point where I still have extra room, but not enough extra to leave one bag home, and besides, I have to have room for the inevitable loot we accumulate while traveling.

UPDATE: Here's an added Curmudgeon link, to a post that I just wrote. I am so steamed that I'm pissing melted lard! It's about a new low in Sleaziness that the GOP just pulled off.

And is it just me, or do I detect that the curmudgeons are quiet this week? I haven't read much curmudgeonly stuff this week, certainly nothing that jumped off the screen at me and said "I'm headed straight for Curmudgeon Call".

One curmudgeonly trait is loyalty. I have to write SOMETHING, so here is a curmudgeon-factor example, that is also funny. Let's look at funny today, what is and what isn't:

If you remember the Original Hollywood Squares and its comics, this may bring a tear to your eye. These great questions and answers are from the days when "Hollywood Squares" game show responses were spontaneous and clever, not scripted and (often) dull, as they are now. Peter Marshall was the host asking the questions, of course.

Q. Do female frogs croak?
A. Paul Lynde: If you hold their little heads under water long enough.

Q. If you're going to make a parachute jump, at least how high should you be?
A. Charley Weaver: Three days of steady drinking should do it.

Q. True or False, a pea can last as long as 5,000 years.
A. George Gobel: Boy, it sure seems that way sometimes

Q. You've been having trouble going to sleep. Are you probably a man or a woman?
A. Don Knotts: That's what's been keeping me awake.

Q. According to Cosmopolitan, if you meet a stranger at a party and you think that he is attractive, is it okay to come out and ask him if he's married?
A. Rose Marie: No; wait until morning.

Q. Which of your five senses tends to diminish as you get older?
A. Charley Weaver: My sense of decency.

Q. What are "Do It," "I can help," and "I can't get enough"?
A. George Gobel: I don't know, but it's coming from the next apartment.

Q. As you grow older, do you tend to gesture more or less with your hands while talking?
A. Rose Marie: You ask me one more growing old question, Peter, and I'll give you a gesture you'll never forget.

Q. Peter, why do Hell's Angels wear leather?
A. Paul Lynde: Because chiffon wrinkles too easily.

Q. Charley, you've just decided to grow strawberries. Are you going to get any during the first year?
A. Charley Weaver: Of course not, I'm too busy growing strawberries.

Q. In bowling, what's a perfect score?
A. Rose Marie: Ralph, the pin boy.

Q. It is considered in bad taste to discuss two subjects at nudist camps. One is politics, what is the other?
A. Paul Lynde: Tape measures.

Q. Can boys join the Camp Fire Girls?
A. Marty Allen: Only after lights out.

Q. When you pat a dog on its head, he will wag his tail. What will a goose do?
A. Paul Lynde: Make him bark?

Q. If you were pregnant for two years, what would you give birth to?
A. Paul Lynde: Whatever it is, it would never be afraid of the dark.

Q. It is the most abused and neglected part of your body, what is it?
A. Paul Lynde: Mine may be abused, but it certainly isn't neglected.

Q. Back in the old days, when Great Grandpa put horseradish on his head, what was he trying to do?
A. George Gobel: Get it in his mouth.

Q. When a couple have a baby, who is responsible for its sex?
A. Charley Weaver: I'll lend him the car, the rest is up to him.

Q. Jackie Gleason recently revealed that he firmly believes in them and has actually seen them on at least two occasions. What are they?
A. Charley Weaver: His feet.

Q. According to Ann Landers, what are two things you should never do in bed?
A. Paul Lynde: Point and laugh.

The jokes are almost ALL Politically-Incorrect. That gives them a boost in my eyes, but they are also FUNNY, and a joke is supposed to be FUNNY. Do you want to get an idea of how bad comedy has become? Find a fellow curmudgeon with Cable or Satellite TV, invite yourself over (it helps to take a bottle) and watch some E! channel or Comedy Channel. If you time it right, there'll be some Chris Rock. The man can be funny, but how do you make a joke out of sixteen "Fucks!" and twelve "motherfuckers" in one sentence? There are lot of "edge" comedians who not only push the bounds of anyone's good taste, but seem to have it as their stock-in-trade, or schtick. It isn't funny, it's not comedy, it's just trash.

When I was a youth, I also watched edgy comedians. Dick Gregory, George Carlin come to mind. As far as black humor went, we could have stopped with Dick Gregory. He said all the funny things about his race that are there to be said, poked a good deal of fun at himself and his race, but had one standard: it had to be funny. Carlin was a "druggie" jokester. He could pantomime the condition of being high and the intellect-warping that occurs in that state better than anyone, and he had a lot of company (Cheech and Chong).

The subject of comedy can't be discussed without looking at TV, which, as a medium, is tailor-made for comedy, because the small screen is perfect for focussing on the comedican's face as he or she delivers the jokes. When is anything ever going to come up to the standards of Rowan and Martin's "Laugh-In"? Dean Martin, the perfect drunk comedian (who could do sober schtick better than most even while drunk, which he always was), and Dan Rowan, the perfect Second Banana. How many times did he hook YOU in by starting serious, then making a joke that made you laugh AT YOURSELF? Add to that the rapid-fire formats (the show had several, including the famous slamming-window closing), the cornball comedy of Grampaw Jones and HIS crew, who were good enough to have their own show (and I guess that they did, but it didn't play much where I lived).

Then we got into the Steve Martin era, which wasn't far removed from the Rowan and Martin era, but then comedy pretty much dies after that, in my book. Two reasons: First, there is NOTHING funny about political correctness, and when that lame restriction is applied to comedy it makes most of the human condition off-limits for comedic highlighting, and it kills comedy. Secondly, and I don't really know what this movement is called, maybe "Comedia del Arte" (the comedy of/in the art), it suddenly became cute for the boomers and younger to laugh at the little (but politically-correct) foibles of people that occur during real life. "Seinfeld" is a good example. It's funny occasionally, but it misses the funny bone more often than it scores hits. The problem with these shows is that they have to try too hard to make their comedic leads look normal so that they can then depart to the funny side (the humor is supposed to be in the departure). Their writers ignore this basic truth: normal is not funny. There are exceptions: "Larry, the Cable Guy" does regional Southern humor. Usually base humor, but he searches out little normal things that Southerners take for granted and finds that they tickle others' funny bones, and he works up jokes around those ideas. He's brilliant, both in his selection of foibles and his delivery. I love the guy.

Comedy is all about subject and delivery. Shakespeare knew that, and all the good comedians know that. Standup comedy hones the delivery to a razor's edge, which is why I like it, but so many young comedians work so hard on their delivery that they ignore subject.

If it's not funny, I don't care how well you deliver the punchline, it won't make me laugh.

Go to your room.

Curmudgeons and Sex

Back to the original format.

On this subject, "Curmudgeons and Sex", the answer to your unasked question, Nosey, is "not much"

When a man get to the Curmudgeon stage of life, some things get harder, some don't.

A Curmudgeon's resolve to defend his culture and his Constitution gets hard. Flint-hard. Steel-hard. Smack from .50BMG API hard.

A Curmudgeon has a harder time hearing things. A harder time understanding "mis-undertood youth". A harder time putting up with people who can't read traffic signs or divine the color of traffic lights.

A Curmudgeon has Hard as a daily part of his life, except, usually, in bed.

Then he's just an old softie!

But there's Viagra for that!

Just to show you that Curmudgeons CAN be sensitive, here's a guide to dealing with PMS wimmen.


THE HORMONE WARNING:

The Hormone Hostage (aka "husband", "boyfriend", "her room-mate", "the First Mate") knows that there are days in the month when all a man has to do is open his mouth and he takes his life in his own hands!

This is a handy guide that should be as common as a driver's license in the wallet of every husband, boyfriend, or significant other!

DANGEROUS: What's for dinner?
SAFER: Can I help you with dinner?
SAFEST: Where would you like to go for dinner?
ULTRA SAFE: Have some chocolate


DANGEROUS: Are you wearing that?
SAFER: Wow, you look good in brown.
SAFEST: WOW! Look at you!
ULTRA SAFE: Have some chocolate


DANGEROUS: What are you so worked up about?
SAFER: Could we be overreacting?
SAFEST: Here's my paycheck.
ULTRA SAFE: Have some chocolate


DANGEROUS: Should you be eating that?
SAFER: You know, there are a lot of apples left.
SAFEST: Can I get you a glass of wine with that?
ULTRA SAFE: Have some chocolate


DANGEROUS: What did you do all day?
SAFER: I hope you didn't over-do it today
SAFEST: I've always loved you in that robe!
ULTRA SAFE: Have some more chocolate.

Yep, snip it, post it up, Curmudgeons. That's an order. I don't want to hear of any of MY troops getting the Bobbit Treatment.

I didn't dismiss you yet.

Here's a convenient list of acronyms, military-style:

13 Things PMS Stands For!

1. Pass My Shotgun
2. Psychotic Mood Shift
3. Perpetual Munching Spree
4. Puffy Mid-Section
5. People Make me Sick
6. Provide Me with Sweets
7. Pardon My Sobbing
8. Pimples May Surface
9. Pass My Sweat pants
10. Pissy Mood Syndrome
11. Plainly; Men Suck
12. Pack My Stuff
And my favorite one...
13. Potential Murder Suspect

Curmudgeons, DISMISSED!

Carnival of the Curmudgeons - Mark Four

Enough of this "standby for orders" style. We're going to start this Carnival with a recipe. If you're a curmudgeon, you know that any food may be eaten at any meal. To do otherise would be, well, French.

CHICKEN SLUMGULLION:

Remarks: I eat a lot of chicken. My docs don't like it when I eat red meat more than a couple of times a week. Something about clogged arteries (which I don't have, I walked on the treadmill today and never got a pulse rate over 110 and got the treadmill up to 3.5 mph and kept it there).

About 5 days ago, I roasted a huge fryer, it was almost 6#. When the Mrs and I ate the first two meals off it, we ate the dark parts and very little of the breast, so I had this huge-breasted chicken left over in the fridge. Hmmmm. What to do. My eyes take in other things: some leftover green beans, some leftover asparagus, a half a tub of salsa casera, some chicken broth. Yep, time for a slumgullion. Defined as a "watery meat stew". Yep. You use your imagination here with the ingredients. Damn near anything you have around. I've known a few curmudgeons who keep a slumgullion pot going and just keep pitching leftovers into it, renewing the spices and herbs, and keep it going for weeks. It changes, so you don't get tired of it.

Preparation: Pull the chicken off the carcass. Cut into bite-sized pieces, set aside. Yield, 1 1/2-2#
Cut up the asparagus, the green beans and a zuchinni I found getting soft in the veggie drawer. Set aside. Break up 5 dried Shiitake Forest Mushrooms (or other flavorful type) and set aside.

To an 8-12 qt pot, add 40 oz of chicken broth (if you're using white meat, you don't get good broth from it). Heat to boiling. Add to the boiling broth 1 1/2 cups of small macaroni (don't get Italian on me and ask what size number). Start stirring so the macaroni doesn't stick. DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU HOW TO COOK MACARONI? I hope not. Chuck in the meat, the 'shrooms, the cut-up veggies, 12 ounces of salsa casera, 1 1/2 tbsp minced garlic and 1 1/2 tbsp of Season-All. Boil moderately on Med-Hi heat, but stir so it doesn't stick. Always stir the pot. Heh!

Where are the herbs, you ask. Good, you're paying attention. If you had a mom who taught you to cook, and she taught you to chuck the herbs in the stew along with every thing that needed cooking, she done you wrong, bub. You don't "pitch" the herbs until you have 5 minutes left in the cooking process, BECAUSE THAT'S ALL THE LONGER HERBS CAN TAKE BEING COOKED! They lose their flavor after that. So, when the macaroni is done, the veggies tender (the meat is already cooked), you throw in 1 1/2 tbsp of ground sage, 1 1/2 tbsp of flake Oregano and 3 tablespoons of ground Rosemary THAT YOU JUST MILLED FROM DRIED ROSEMARY NEEDLES. In your spice mill. If you don't have a spice mill, you'll have to hand rub the rosemary a pinch at a time. Finally, just before you turn off the fire, pitch in another 1 1/2 tbsp of minced garlic (the first garlic has just about cooked away, but you will have a garlic base AND a garlic presentation if you split the garlic into front and back doses.

Dip a bowl of it out, sit down to the table and spoon it into your maw. Goes down well with a Deschutes Brewery Mirror Pond Ale, but would be OK with a robust red wine. Nice with some fresh French Bread if you have it. The crusty kind. Dip it into the soup. Have a salad if you feel inclined, or some Kim Chee if you're partial to Asian food.

This classifies as a "light" meal, as it will have virtually no fat. It has veggies and garlic, both of which you can boast about next time your doc asks you what you've been eating lately. Eat as many bowls of it as you want. This batch would have served at least 8.

OK, we curmudgeons have eaten, and since it was light meal, we don't have to strap on a 1911, grap the pooch-pounding stick and take a walk around the neighborhood to work it off, so here's the rest of the Carnival.

Mr. Completely leads off with a post griping about the recent transplants to the Northwest who aren't handling the straight month of rain we've had up here well. He points out that if you're a NW curmudgeon, you're supposed to have Web Feet, and all this damp and gloom and mud doesn't faze you, it delights you.

On a controversial note, I postulate that we curmudgeons want to die when we want to die, and not have some maybe-well-meaning grandkids or the nanny state trying to prolong our miserable existence at the end. To that end, the Supreme Court did all of us a favor, and particularily those of us curmudgeons here in Oregon who can presently take advantage of the Death With Dignity Act. Your mileage may vary, especially if you are a Religious Curmudgeon.

The Golden Globe Awards were held this week. They are about as significant as a fart in a hurricane, but they tell us who are enemies are, so I wrote about it. Here's my link.

Then Curmudgeon Emeritus, GuyK of Charming, Just Charming, cuts loose on "poverty" a favorite subject this time of year because Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr was big on it. He had it half right, the evil in our world is poverty AND ignorance. You can be poor and worth your salt, but if you're ignorant, money won't help.

Then the Perfesser warns us of an impending fuel price rise.

On a sad note, FN Herstal, the fine Belgian firearms conglomerate which owns the Winchester name and brand, announced that it will either immediately sell or close the last Winchester factory. You could say that Winchester is Winchester (the term is fighter pilot slang for out of gun ammo).

But, we'll end on a happy curmudgeon note, with this joke, sent to me by the EllTee, a SD curmudgeon:

A young boy went up to his grandfather, a curmudgeon who lived with the family, and asked him, "Granpa, what is the difference between potentially and realistically?"

The grandfather thought for a moment, then answered, "Go ask your mother if she would sleep with Brad Pitt for a million dollars. Then ask your sister if she would sleep with Brad Pitt for a million dollars, and then, ask your brother if he'd sleep with Brad Pitt for a million dollars. Come back and tell me what you learn from that."

So the boy went to his mother and asked, "Would you sleep with Brad Pitt for a million dollars?" The mother replied, "Of course I would! We could really use that money to fix up the house and send you kids to a great University!"

The boy then went to his sister and asked, "Would you sleep with Brad Pitt for a million dollars?" The girl replied, "Oh my God! I LOVE Brad Pitt I would sleep with him in a heartbeat, are you nuts?!?!?"

The boy then went to his older brother and asked, "Would you sleep with Brad Pitt for a million dollars?" "Of course," the brother replied. "Do you know how much a million bucks would buy?"

The boy pondered the answers for a few days, then went back to his granddad. His grandfather asked him, "Did you find out the difference between potentially and realistically?"

The boy replied, "Yes... Potentially, you and I are sitting on Three Million Dollars..............but Realistically,......... we're living with two Sluts and a Queer."

Carnival of the Curmudgeons - Mark Three

You know how this goes, if you're either a curmudgeon or have been to Basic Training (any service).

Tell 'em what you're going to tell 'em
Tell 'em
Tell 'em what you just told 'em

Yep, that's the standard military way of teaching things, and it's good enough for this curmudgeon.

Today, we'll look at several very curmudgeonly posts, share a curmudgeon joke, and then we'll do something new:

No female has yet volunteered what a female (rhymes with tamale) curmudgeon is, but I'm going to post something from their point of view anyway, and we'll say it's from the curmudgeon-splits, hereafter referred to as "curmu/\dgeon". If you're over 55, you'll remember the reference.

The Attention Step is this joke:

A little old lady was running up and down the halls in a nursing home. As she walked, she would flip up the hem of her nightgown and say, "Supersex." She walked up to an elderly man in a wheelchair. Flipping her gown at him, she said, "Supersex." He sat silently for a moment or two and finally answered, "I'll take the soup."

OK, what is it that Leno does when a joke bombs? Oh, yeah, he makes fun of his bandleader. I'm too cheap to have a band, so I guess I'll just have to grab the firex and put out these flames......

Finally, to show you that beneath all that crust, curmudgeons MAY have a heart, a poem.

First post: frequent curmudgeon (almost to the ex-salted status of CONSTANT CURMUDGEON) GuyK. I say that this is a perfect post, in that it adds to the curmudgeon storehouse of Things That Piss You Off.

Then we get to Chris, the Anarchangel. Don't get that FUBAR, it's NOT Christ the Anti-angel. Where was I? Oh yes, Things That Piss You Off. Chris has come up with the little matter of your sweetie's LACK of simple knowledge of things mechanical, such as TIRES ARE SUPPOSED TO BE ROUND, AND SINCE THEY ARE PNEUMATIC, THAT MEANS THAT THEY NEED AIR! Chris, of course, does a better job of it than I, so go here to read his byplay.

Then we drop by PawPaw's House to get a little refreshment on the way to the range. Uh, oh. PawPaw is having a fine shitfit. It seems that THE RANGE IS CLOSED, and on a day it is supposed to be open, because the Department of Natural Resources doesn't have enough resources to open it (this after the Governess Blanco just bought herself over a half-million in luxury items for the Governor's Mansion presumably from FEMA funds or $$$ sprung loose by the infusion of Federal Cash). PawPaw jumps into the DNR's face BIG-TIME.

Up in Seattle, hard by Puget Sound, The Analog Kid, a Curmudgeon-in-Waiting, has found us the perfect Retro-Mobile. I love MoPar, and this might be my next (and last) new car.

Then, the "Compleat Gun Blogger", Mr. Completely, is trying on the Impressario's Suit, and is starting to put together the First Annual National Gunblogger's Rendezvous this coming November. In Reno, NV. Go here to read the exciting details.

OK, I may not do this every week, but bear with me here (or just stop reading if you don't need an eyewasher).

Daddy's Poem

Her hair was up in a pony tail,
her favorite dress tied with a bow.
Today was Daddy's Day at school,
and she couldn't wait to go.

But her mommy tried to tell her,
that she probably should stay home.
Why the kids might not understand,
if she went to school alone.

But she was not afraid;
she knew just what to say.
What to tell her classmates
of why he wasn't there today.

But still her mother worried,
for her to face this day alone.
And that was why once again,
she tried to keep her daughter home.

But the little girl went to school
eager to tell them all.
About a dad she never sees
a dad who never calls.

There were daddies along the wall in back,
for everyone to meet.
Children squirming impatiently,
anxious in their seats

One by one the teacher called
a student from the class.
To introduce their daddy,
as seconds slowly passed.

At last the teacher called her name,
every child turned to stare.
Each of them was searching,
a man who wasn't there.

"Where's her daddy at?"
she heard a boy call out.
"She probably doesn't have one,"
another student dared to shout.

And from somewhere near the back,
she heard a daddy say,
"Looks like another deadbeat dad,
too busy to waste his day."

The words did not offend her,
as she smiled up at her Mom.
And looked back at her teacher,
who told her to go on.

And with hands behind her back,
slowly she began to speak.
And out from the mouth of a child,
came words incredibly unique.

"My Daddy couldn't be here,
because he lives so far away.
But I know he wishes he could be,
since this is such a special day.

And though you cannot meet him,
I wanted you to know.
All about my daddy,
and how much he loves me so.

He loved to tell me stories
he taught me to ride my bike.
He surprised me with pink roses,
and taught me to fly a kite.

We used to share fudge sundaes,
and ice cream in a cone.
And though you cannot see him.
I'm not standing here alone.

"Cause my daddy's always with me,
even though we are apart
I know because he told me,
he'll forever be in my heart"

With that, her little hand reached up,
and lay across her chest.
Feeling her own heartbeat,
beneath her favorite dress.

And from somewhere here in the crowd of dads,
her mother stood in tears.
Proudly watching her daughter,
who was wise beyond her years.

For she stood up for the love
of a man not in her life.
Doing what was best for her,
doing what was right.

And when she dropped her hand back down,
staring straight into the crowd.
She finished with a voice so soft,
but its message clear and loud.

"I love my daddy very much,
he's my shining star.
And if he could, he'd be here,
but heaven's just too far

You see he was a policeman
and died just this past year
When airplanes hit the towers
and taught Americans to fear.

But sometimes when I close my eyes,
it's like he never went away."
And then she closed her eyes,
and saw him there that day.

And to her mothers amazement,
she witnessed with surprise.
A room full of daddies and children,
all starting to close their eyes.

Who knows what they saw before them,
who knows what they felt inside.
Perhaps for merely a second,
they saw him at her side.

"I know you're with me Daddy,"
to the silence she called out.
And what happened next made believers,
of those once filled with doubt.

Not one in that room could explain it,
for each of their eyes had been closed.
But there on the desk beside her,
was a fragrant long-stemmed pink rose.

And a child was blessed, if only for a moment,
by the love of her shining star.
And given the gift of believing,
that heaven is never too far.

Tissue break. If ya got 'em, wipe 'em.

OK, here's the Curmu/\dgeon POV: (did you forget that means split-tail curmudgeon?)

WINTER CLASSES FOR MEN AT THE LEARNING CENTER FOR ADULTS
REGISTRATION MUST BE COMPLETED BY Monday, Jan 19,2006
NOTE: DUE TO THE COMPLEXITY AND DIFFICULTY LEVEL
OF THEIR CONTENTS, CLASS SIZES WILL BE LIMITED TO 8 PARTICIPANTS MAXIMUM.


Class 1
How To Fill Up The Ice Cube Trays --- Step by Step, with Slide Presentation.
Meets 4 weeks, Monday and Wednesday for 2 hours beginning at 7:00 PM.

Class 2
The Toilet Paper Roll --- Does It Change Itself?
Round Table Discussion.
Meets 2 weeks, Saturday 12:00 for 2 hours.

Class 3
Is It Possible To Urinate Using The Technique Of Lifting The Seat and
Avoiding The Floor, Walls and Nearby Bathtub? --- Group Practice.
Meets 4 weeks, Saturday 10:00 PM for 2 hours.


Class 4
Fundamental Differences Between The Laundry Hamper and The Floor ---
Pictures and Explanatory Graphics.
Meets Saturdays at 2:00 PM for 3 weeks.

Class 5
After Dinner Dishes --- Can They Levitate and Fly Into The Kitchen Sink?
Examples on Video.
Meets 4 weeks, Tuesday and Thursday for 2 hours beginning
at 7:00 PM

Class 6
Loss Of Identity --- Losing The Remote To Your Significant Other.
Help Line Support and Support Groups.
Meets 4 Weeks, Friday and Sunday 7:00 PM

Class 7
Learning How To Find Things --- Starting With Looking In The Right Places
And Not Turning The House Upside Down While Screaming.
Open Forum .
Monday at 8:00 PM, 2 hours.

Class 8
Health Watch --- Bringing Her Flowers Is Not Harmful To Your Health.
Graphics and Audio Tapes.
Three nights; Monday, Wednesday, Friday at 7:00 PM for 2 hours.

Class 9
Real Men Ask For Directions When Lost --- Real Life Testimonials.
Tuesdays at 6:00 PM Location to be determined.

Class 10
Is It Genetically Impossible To Sit Quietly While She Parallel Parks?
Driving Simulations.
4 weeks, Saturday's n oon, 2 hours.

Class 11
Learning to Live --- Basic Differences Between Mother and Wife.
Online Classes and role-playing .
Tuesdays at 7:00 PM, location to be determined

Class 12
How to be the Ideal Shopping Companion
Relaxation Exercises, Meditation and Breathing Techniques.
Meets 4 weeks, Tuesday and Thursday for 2 hours beginning at 7:00 PM.

Class 13
How to Fight Cerebral Atrophy --- Remembering Birthdays, Anniversaries and Other Important Dates and Calling When You're Going To Be Late.
Cerebral Shock Therapy Sessions and Full Lobotomies Offered.
Three nights; Monday, Wednesday, Friday at 7:00 PM for 2 hours.


Class 14
The Stove/Oven --- What It Is and How It Is Used.
Live Demonstration.
Tuesdays at 6:00 PM, location to be determined.

Upon completion of any of the above courses,
diplomas will be issued to the survivors.

Finally, close your eyes and make this image: It's blazing summer heat in Ar Ramadi, and the Marines have just finished an important anti-insurgent operation. A CNN reporter is "embedded", and has been covering the action, and his cameraman has just gotten a video of a Marine sniper making a kill with his M-24 sniper rifle. The CNN reporter waits until the Marine and his spotter have stood down, and he goes up to the sniper and sticks the microphone in the sniper's grimy face. "What do you feel when you kill an enemy freedom fighter like that?" the reporter asks the Marine. The Marine squints some dust from his eyes, looks the reporter up and down, and says, "Recoil, sir."

Goodnight, Curmudgeons!

OK, OK, I give up

Here's a goddam meme for you. Follow THIS if you dare. The idea is shamelessly stolen from a Larry the Cable Guy special I saw last year.

I give you the "Kiss My Ass Meme"

If you want to rant and rave about how you think all public employees are worthless, and doubly so if they belong to a union, you may KISS MY ASS. Some of us earned our retirements. I earned TWO of them, and am well off, so you may KISS MY ASS AGAIN. If you feel like getting right into my face about it, I am a nasty old ARMED retired public employee, and in the end, you may think that KISSING MY ASS is the lesser of two evils.

If you wear a "Peace Symbol", better known as "The Great American Chicken Track", and think it is as acceptable as a Cross, or Star of David, or even the Two Goats Fucking of some far-off religion, you may KISS MY ASS. Your stupid trinket simply tells me that you worship at the Temple of Moonbatism, where the high priests, also known as Democrats, serve Kool-Aid to the penitents. Drink some, but you'd better hurry to KISS MY ASS, because that strychnine kicks in pretty fast...

I am an Air Force veteran, specifically a retired B-52 Navigator/Bombardier. I flew though flack traps in the Vietnam war and tempted a few SAM missileers as well. I didn't get down and dirty in the mud and blood and tears with the grunts, but I probably saved a few of their asses, and they are generally grateful for my service. Any of you armchair Generals who still think that flyboys can't and don't fight may KISS MY ASS. By the way, I AM fairly handy with a rifle, a skill I learned well before my Air Force days.

I am a computer geek-in-training by choice. When I want to play on my computer, I'll do that. I am slowly becoming more the master of it than it is of me, but if any of you is tempted to tell me I spend too much time at my computer and DON'T HAVE A LIFE, you may KISS MY ASS. In my 62 years I've probably lived a helluva lot more life than you, and if you read my blogs, you would know that.

I don't give a damn if you are some kind of opera diva, or pop-singing icon, or major actress, if you sing MY National Anthem at a major event, you'd better sing it with the music that was put to it shortly after Francis Scott Key wrote it. If you think you want to do a vibratto High-F, the goddam music doesn't call for that, and I don't give a flying fark if you ARE a diva, if you ruin the presentation of MY National Anthem that way, you may KISS MY ASS, and be quick about it, or I might kick yours, if we meet later, and I don't care if your gorilla bodyguard will then kick my ass severely, the pleasure I will get from kicking yours first will see me through the pain.

OK, you've been instructed. I expect to see some meme-following in the comments here, but don't get smartass on me, because YOU may then KISS MY ASS. That's BESAME MI CULO if you are from somewhere south of here.

Ego strokes

Rivrdog to Blogosphere, come in please.

Message follows in one part.

Lay off of the "memes", "best blog contests", pseudo-psych personality inventories and other ego strokes. If you feel your ego needs stroking, my dear bloggers, write a post and invite comments AND trackbacks. If the commenters are all trolls because you wrote some worthless crap, at least you can have fun with the troll droppings in your next post.

Contest-mongers: piss up a rope.

End of message.

Here's a hint for those bloggers with temporary writer's block: go read a lefty news service, such as Reuters or AssPress, or even IndyMedia. I'm sure you will find SOMETHING there that needs reacting to.

Curmudgeon, out.

Dealing with lawbreaking protesters of the moonbat sort

This example of warm, cuddly curmudgeon prose couldn't wait for next week's Carnival, so go and read it. That's an order (curmudgeons love to issue orders, don't you know).

Make sure you read the comment(s) to the post, in which your blogger-curmudgeon posts advice on how the citizen should deal with the lawbreaking that's advised by the editor of the island fishwrap on Whidbey Island.

This post has it all: how-to-be-a-curmudgeon advice, how to handle those who would disrespect and interfere with your hunting rights, and advice on how to make AND DEFEND a citizen's arrest of a lawbreaker, together with caveats on following the necessary legal niceties involved.

The Carnival of the Curmudgeons, Mark Two, is out on the Rivrdog Blog, linked here.

Curmudgeon Joke

THE WORLD'S SHORTEST & HAPPIEST FAIRY TALE

Once upon a time, a guy asked a girl "Will you marry me?"
The girl said, "NO!"

And the guy lived happily ever after, evolved into a curmudgeon, went fishing, hunting, played golf a lot, drank beer, had shitloads of money and farted whenever he wanted.

THE END

HT: The EllTee, who is a serious curmudgeon, but refuses to blog.

Watch this space

...for the opening of Curmudgeon Call, a blog dedicated to the principle that all men are NOT created equal, and the better of them have a duty to improve the lesser.