November 25, 2006

Doctor my eyes...

"Boss, the plane, the plane!"

Why can’t the reality of something, just once, measure up to my fantasy expectations of it? I am so tired of disappointments. I’m an old man with not many vital years remaining to me. My fantasies are about all I’ve got left to live for and I’m tired of seeing them lying crushed and broken at my feet. What happened you ask? Well...

Last night as my wife and I are lying in bed waiting for sleep to come she asks me, “Honey, I’ve got to get a new bra. Would you like to go shopping with me to pick one up? We could go out afterwards and have a nice dinner.”

Dear readers, words simply can not convey how quickly a thousand and one Arabian Night fantasies flashed through my hot and feverish brain.

In my very best not-wishing-to-appear-too-eager voice I replied, “Uh, I guess that would be okay.”

“Well, don’t stay up too late playing video games and we’ll get an early start tomorrow.”

Sleep? How could I possibly get any sleep with the scantily clad visions now dancing in my head? Oh, the expectations I had. I’ve seen the television specials. I know what goes on in these establishments.

Would Sting be performing live? Would I wind up in the V.I.P. lounge doing a few “lines” with Kate Moss? Runways filled with gossamer covered angels of heavenly beauty. Would it be just like the pajama party frolics I’d imagined in my youth? Would it be okay to take a camera?

Oh, be still my trembling heart...

How quickly hope dies in the heart of the male member of the human species. I knew the moment we pulled into the parking lot that my fantasies were in serious trouble. There were no spotlights sweeping back and forth across the heavens. There were no limousines dropping off beautiful people at red-carpeted-photographer-lined entrances.

There was a girl with a shopping cart over by the trash dumpsters that could have been Kate Moss. She was snorting something.

Dear friends, this was not the glass and chrome palace of my gossamer fantasies. This was not even the castle of pretty panties and eye candy come true for good little grown up boys. No, this was an industrial factory where the welders of steel combine with the makers of fabric to produce brassieres capable of supporting Mother Earth.

This is where they measure a woman’s bra size by first assembling a scaffold around her belly and then sending a trained team of Alpine climbers to the summit armed with batteries of heavy duty tape measures. It is dangerous work.

I’ve never seen so many pregnant women together in one place...

I may be scarred for life.

I was the only man there...

Why am I always the last one to learn?

There are feminine secrets a man should never know and this is one of them; Fredrick’s of Hollywood and Victoria’s secret are a lie. Real women do not purchase bras from these places. Kate Moss and her cocaine-dental-floss-girthed chippies maybe, but not the women who are our wives and the mothers of our children.

No, they are sent to darker places.

And it is an injustice to these women who are beautiful because of the hearts they possess and the love they pour into our homes on a daily bases. These are the women who deserve the lingere palaces, not Kate and friends.

If you are a real man, like me, do yourself a favor and stay home when your wife goes shopping for under garments. It’s not pretty.

Stay home and watch the television specials or thumb through the pages of that sports magazine and keep your candy-coated dreams alive. Trust me, it’s better for everyone that way.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going up to my room to cry over the loss of another adolescent fantasy.

Labels: , , , , , ,

November 24, 2006

When Black Friday comes...


Which hormone turns the most timid of woman into the most feral of beast during the official start to holiday shopping known as Black Friday? Have any of you been out of the house yet today? Do you have any idea of what is happening out there? It’s a jungle!

I had to go out for milk this morning, my wife is pregnant and we seem to be going through the stuff like water, so I got in the car and drove to the local quickie mart. As I pulled into parking lot I couldn’t help but notice but how many women seemed to be out and about so early in the day. What could possibly be on sale at the quickie mart to bring so many mothers and their daughters out in numbers like this?

Now, these are clerks I deal with almost daily. They ring up my first cup of coffee in the morning when I’m headed out to work. Sometimes it’s a lunch break burrito and mega-soda in the afternoon. Lately, they give me a knowing smile as I arrive late at night to fulfill one of my wife’s little cravings. They take good care of me.

I should have known something was wrong the moment I walked through the doors and stepped inside. There was a look of terror on the kid’s face behind the counter and he seemed to have an odd twitch in his neck. For one crazy moment I thought he was telling me to run for it and leave the store. I thought maybe a robbery was taking place, but when I looked around the premises every thing looked just fine. As a matter of fact, most of the ladies present seemed to be looking at me with mischievous little smiles on their faces.

As I walked towards the back wall of the store where the dairy case is located I began to experience an eerie feeling. I could have sworn a number of women seemed to shadowing me; as if they were jockeying for position. I dismissed it as paranoia until I opened the glass door of the dairy case and reached in for a half gallon of milk.

Before I knew what was happening, a teenaged girl body-checked me into the glass door and snatched the gallon of milk from my hand. Dazed, I watched as the girl held the lactose trophy high above her head and received a thumbs up from her smiling mother. Some what shaken I dismissed the incident as common rudeness until I reached out for yet another container.

No sooner had I stretched out my arm than a woman appeared as if out of nowhere and gave me an elbow to the ribs. (I think the x-rays will prove it broken.) As I jerked my arm back down into a defensive position to protect myself she stomped on the toes of my foot and nearly brought me to my knees.

Through tears of pain raining down my tortured cheeks I watched as she pointed her finger down at me in derision and said to the awestruck girl standing in front of her, “See, that’s how you do it.” At that moment the horrible truth dawned upon me and I knew I had to get out of the store as quickly as humanly possible.

The next five minutes of my life were among the most harrowing I’ve ever known. As I ran what had become a gauntlet between myself and the front exit I was assaulted like I’ve never been before. I was kicked, clawed, shoved and pushed. I was punched, poked and prodded. One lady clubbed me with a purse that surely must have contained a brick. (She hit me with a wallop so hard it felt like I’d been kicked by a mule.)

Explaining to my pregnant wife why I’d returned without the milk was also no picnic. That’s why I’m sitting in the den now watching college football and licking my wounds. If you are a man, please, for your own safety, heed the words of warning I am about to offer up to all of my masculine readers.

Stay at home and do not venture out into the world!

The stores are not safe for men this day. Black Friday is upon us and the women are out shopping. Believe me; It is more dangerous than you can possibly imagine, for as I discovered this morning, this day does not just happen, they train for it.

Labels: , , , , ,

November 23, 2006

We Are Family...

"I wish mom had made those cool apple turkeys."

In spite of our country’s short comings at any given moment we are indeed blessed to live here. I am grateful to be able to speak my opinions on this blog without fear of governmental repercussions. At least so far, so please don’t tell anyone what I’m saying here, just in case, you know.

(It will simply be our little secret.)

This afternoon my wife and I will be sitting down to dinner with family and good friends. We will be feasting on the traditional fare; turkey, cranberries, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, stuffing and lots more including pumpkin pie. I’m so very grateful for my wonderful friends and family. They are my most cherished blessing of all.

I hope that wherever you are right now that you are thankful too. Some of us will not be home for the holidays. Some of us have forgotten our way and the value of our loved ones. I can only hope that in a world where tomorrow is never guaranteed petty grievances will be forgiven and peace will be made before it is too late. Gather your loved ones close and cherish them while there is still time to do so.

Some of us will not be home this Thanksgiving Day because we are serving our country in far away places. Words are not enough to show my gratitude for the sacrifice you make each and every day. Some of us will never come home from these lands and I ask that God receive you in heaven and shower you with a bounty of grace and tenderness.

For those of us about to sit down and enjoy the bounty of home, good food, family and friends, please pause for a moment and clasp the hand of the person next to you. Form a circle of family around the table and take a moment to savor this most precious gift. These are the memories that knit the fabric of our children’s tomorrow. Let’s make it a good one...

God bless each and every one of us, and may he keep us and protect us.


Labels: , , , ,

November 22, 2006

Turn Out The Lights...

Henry Kissinger

I’ve never really been much of a fan of this individual. I believe he’s one of the soulless ones who walk among us. If Henry had worked the ovens at Auschwitz there probably wouldn’t be a kosher deli in the world today. Heartless, cruel and efficient; he was the enforcer during the Nixon years in the White House.

It was never a good thing when Henry came to call. If things weren’t going the way America wanted them to go when he left your country the bombs would fall. We’re not talking one or two smart bombs either. Back in those days it was carpet bombing from wave after wave of B-52 bombers that filled the skies above like angels of death. Oh yeah, war was not so pretty in those days. The bombs fell like rain and with the same degree of accuracy.

Why am I writing about Mr. Kissinger? It is because in his last ditch effort to salvage some sort of victory condition in Iraq George W. Bush has been calling upon all of the ancient ones of evil for suggestions and ideas on what to do.

Yes, I have seen faces in the White House that I thought would never see the light of the political arena again. It is like watching an H.P. Lovecraft story unfolding before my eyes as foul priests of darkness gather together to call forth the Demon Cthulhu.

Of all the silken-tongued-oily ones’ who are gathering around our embattled president there is one thing I can say on Mr. Kissinger’s behalf. He may be the most evil of the assembled priests but, he tells it like it is. When he says, “There is no achievable military victory possible in Iraq.” You can bank on it.

I tend to think that when President Bush sat down to talk with Henry Kissinger the conversation went something like this.

George: Thanks for coming uncle Henry. Things have turned pretty ugly in Iraq and I don’t know what to do.”

Kissinger: First off, let me say that if you were my son I’d have already killed you with my bare hands. Thanks to the thoroughness of your Marine guards you will still be alive when I leave here today. You are a fool who has shamed America with your stupidity.”

George: I can still fix it! There’s got to be a way to fix things. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it!”

Kissinger: “You have lost. There is no achievable military victory in Iraq. Pray there are no nuclear weapons in Iran. Hope that Syria does not send Hezbollah assassins to find you. Go back to the farm in Crawford, Texas and never show your face to the world of men again.”

George: No, it can’t end like this! I’m a hero! The American people love me. Look, there’s a picture of me with a fireman and the flag. MOMMIE!”

Kissinger: “Send in the angels of death, George. Let them feel the might of your anger. Carpet Bagdad with your righteous wrath! Destroy them, destroy them all!”

It’s finished people.

“Turn out the lights, the party’s over. They say that all good things must end. Turn out the lights, the party’s over. “

Cut and be done...

Get out of Iraq.

End The War Now!

Bring Our Troops Home.

Labels: , , ,

View My Profile

* * * *
My personality type?

Friends and Neighbors.

Blog Directory & Search engine

C-List Blogger

Blogarama - The Blog Directory

Page by Pixie

Powered by Blogger