Thursday, February 02, 2006

Carnival of the Curmudgeons - Mark Six

This Mark is from Mexico, where this curmudgeon is decompressing in luxury in Puerto Vallarta, at Paradise Village Resort.

There are a lot of curmudgeons here, of both sexes. All pretty mellow. Tequila does that to you. Hard to get the Curmudgeon Edge, but we always try, don't we?

First, a joke, from a female curmudgeon point of view:

A woman and a baby were in the doctor's examining room,
waiting for the doctor to come in for the baby's first exam.

The doctor arrived, examined the baby checked his weight,
and being a little concerned, asked if the baby was breast-fed
or bottle-fed.

"Breast-fed" she replied.

"Well, strip down to your waist," the doctor ordered.
She did. He pinched her nipples, then pressed, kneaded,
and rubbed both breasts for a while in a detailed examination.

Motioning to her to get dressed, he said, "No wonder this baby
is underweight. You don't have any milk."

"I know," she said, "I'm his Grandma, but I'm glad I came."

I can hear the silence from here.

I'll try again later, but you readers had better meet me half-way on this, or I might rant.

On to some selections of this week's curmudgeonly goodness: Rob over at Gut Rumbles has an explanation of why he's becoming a coffee snob. Of course he should, curmudgeons are NOT tea-sippers. Then, Denny, the Original Grouchy Old Cripple, has his take and some punditry on the recent Palestinian "election". Curmudgeons call 'em as they see 'em. Jimmah Carter, you are NOT a curmudgeon, you are an idiot. There IS a difference. Finally, Mr. Helpful has his take (and a curmudgeonly view it is, too) on the recent "Oprah" book-club flap. So, my take is that all this goes to prove is that the more of an Emperor or Empress someone thinks they are, the less likely it is that they will believe that they are wearing no clothes when they are actually naked.

Curmudgeons march on. Your Carnival impressario is currently on hiatus in Mexico, where I'm just trying to indulge my touristy jones. I found a den of ex-pat curmudgeons and joined their company. It is the Vallarta Yacht Club, a delightful place where the cervesa flows without too much prompting with pesos ($MX12), Chivas is $MX45, and the "hamburguesa" is acceptable. Add in the benefits of a private club-within-a-club, a VOIP telephone to the States and the general ambiance of the hub of the large and showy marina, and you will see why I love it. Commodore Douglas accepted my membership with a minimum of fuss, and I presented my new club with a burgee from my Oregon one, and reciprocity arrangements are in progress between the two clubs. You may call me "Ambassador-Curmudgeon", thank you.

It's about the end of night watch here at the resort, and the day watch employees are starting to move back in for their huge job of entertaining hundreds of tourists. This coffee snob will retreat back to his suite and fire up a pot of Seattle's Best, since the lobby coffee bar won't open for another couple of hours. Then it's off to the booking agent to book an upcountry trip for this weekend, a breakfast meeting and update on new marketing strategies for club memberships (i.e. they will try to sell me a bigger timeshare, but they are polite when I say no), then off to the Aeropuerto to pick up my youngest daughter, an anti-curmudgeon, who is joining us for a week. If I have time before her plane gets in, there's a little restaurant nearby that serves the employees of the aeropuerto, and they have the best Carnitas for a few pesos. Chicharones, too.

OK, I promised I'd try again at this humor business:


80-year old Bessie bursts into the rec room at the retirement home. She holds her clenched fist in the air and announces, "Anyone who can guess what's in my hand can have sex with me tonight!!" An elderly gentleman in the rear shouts out, "An elephant?" Bessie thinks a minute and says, "Close enough."

Humor Hat Tips to MadErnie and the EllTee, both of which ex-gyrenes have warped senses of humor.


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