I Don't Think That's What They Meant To Say!

I don't know about you, but I need a good laugh. Enjoy!

Children cutting? Messes? What kind of saloon is this?

I think the "bitten thing" is the finger, but I'm not sure.

The sad thing is, they might have meant to say exactly that.

I've heard of living on a strict budget, but that's ridiculous!

It could be worse, I suppose. I've heard that

yellow potatoes are the harshest ones of all.

To prevent poaching in or around this pond, 

trespassers will be boiled. Loiterers will be baked.

I think it's too late. You seem to be hurt

permanently. And it's not that pretty.

What is it? An aphrodisiac wristwatch? I don't understand!

Fierce monkeys that steal your "belonging"? How 

will you ever find your place in this world again?

A "Blood-Condensed Friendship Pavilion"? A "Blood-Sacrificing 

Small Shop"? A Communist's idea of fun is not my idea of fun!

Maybe it is (for guys, at least). But where are

they hiding the most beautiful toilet paper?

If I'm dying, what do I care if the chair is "on position" 

or the table is cleaned? Someone else will have to deal 

with my refuse. Thanks for your very large company.

"Celebrate Recession - Hang Yourself!" Well,

why not? After all, it is Strawberry Season!

The proper translation here should have been:

"No Chicken Littles allowed beyond this point."

Yes, but what does the "tiny little cute store" on

Freak Street sell? Besides Coca-Cola, I mean.

I'm very good at this. Though I'm not always careful.

Not a bad price for Fresh Crap. But wait

just one second here – those are fishes!

Aww, poor little guy! I've got an extra hoodie in my car.

This is it. The end of the line for deformed men everywhere.

So, just a little then? Well, at least they're honest...

It says the same thing in seven different languages, so everyone

can know that they're not lost. Because the sign says you aren't.

This is so sad. I can't stand to see innocent vegetables suffering.

In this "very gourmetic world," it's comforting to know that

there's a place you can go that's full of "dream" and "Roman."

NOTE: The "Keep [Blade] Out Of Children" rule does not apply

if you happen to find yourself in the Super Saloon (see above).

Girlstalking is okay, but not girlhunting. That's what

dark, secluded allies are for. (Lighten up, I'm kidding!)

Duly noted. Out of curiosity, were they actually supposed to be socks?

Some people do think with theirs...

"Yes, I would like a 2 x 4 and a dime bag, please."

Don't worry your pretty little head about 

it! I wasn't too uninconvenienced by it.

Wealthy people are dangerous and lumpy.

And are not welcome in this establishment.

Unless you can't read the above language.

Then you're sufficiently dead meat!

That's alright. He was probably just bringing a

bunch of junkmale anyway. Good riddance!

Mine isn't religion-free, but it is nondenominational.

Um...

I think I just lost my appetite.

Please wait till you hear the body drop before proceeding.

Apparently, crime pays.

There's tons more of these on the Internet.

But this is enough for one day...

Overwhelmed

Forgive the short sentences. They're all I can manage today. You'll see why.

I took the day off yesterday. My wife was already off for Veteran's Day. But it was not a day off. Far from it.

This is what we knew going into the weekend. We had an OB/GYN appointment at 10:00 yesterday morning. We had to drop the car off to be serviced at 1:30. We had a hospital tour scheduled for 7:30.

Then Saturday happened. Or Saturday night, rather.

We get a phone call from our Realtor telling us we have an offer on the house. A low offer. A very low offer. Like twelve thousand dollars too low. Which is fifteen percent of the asking price. Yeah, not happening.

The phone call comes less than an hour before we plan to be asleep. Good luck with that.

Crunch the numbers. Figure the expenses. Try to come up with a figure that will let us break even. (If we can forget about losing any equity we had in the house. And we can't.) It could be worse, we know. But it could be better.

We sleep on it, though not so soundly. The next day, we seek advice from friends and family.

We come up with a number, and propose a counteroffer. Sunday. In the afternoon. Today is Tuesday. In the afternoon. Still no response on the counteroffer. Waiting is fun. Not.

Oh yeah, and the prospective buyers want to close in three weeks. Problem there – we have nowhere else to live. We can't get a loan and close in three weeks. Not gonna happen.

They will have to flexible on the closing date or there is no deal. Or we will have to move to an apartment (not ideal, but not the end of the world). Or we will need to find a house quickly and hope for the best on the timing.

Foreseeing a busy day ahead, I take off the entire day on Monday. Too much to do, too little time in which to do it. We make appointments with our Realtor that morning to see four houses that interest us.

We start the day with the OB/GYN appointment. It's our first time having a non-stress test, to be followed immediately by an ultrasound. All goes well with both tests. Baby is big (eighty-ninth percentile) but otherwise healthy.

The appointment takes longer than expected and we have just enough time to run home, grab the other car, and drop it off at the car dealership for servicing, then grab a bite to eat (in the car) before meeting with our Realtor.

We spend the next four hours looking at houses, in hopes that the sale of our house will go through. One house we'd previously fallen in love with online proves to be equally perfect inside and out, but... Our Realtor has found out that approximately thirty-thousand dollars worth of structural repairs need to be done. And we quickly fall out of love.

We see a couple of houses that are too in disrepair to be seriously considered.

We see another, newer house that's fine upstairs, but weird downstairs. And very, very small.

We see another house that simply won't work for us, layout-wise.

We see another house that's almost perfect. But it has a smaller kitchen than the one we currently have in our townhouse. Deal-breaker.

Returning to the real estate office, we talk to a mortgage lender who shares office space with the Realtors, but is otherwise unaffiliated with them. He runs our credit, finds it to be very good (we're not surprised), and pre-approves us for a loan.

We crunch numbers. We realize that we could possibly afford more house than we previously thought. Like one that's move-in ready. After all, we're running short on time – baby's coming, ready or not.

We talk more with our Realtor, who shares a number of other listings with us that are just outside of our previous budget. Information overload. Good information, no doubt. But by now brains are exploding. And they are ours.

Armed with flyers out the wazoo (a scientifically unverifiable body part), we leave to pick up the car (which has been ready for hours). Now we only have time to grab another quick bite to eat before heading to the hospital for the prenatal tour.

I order food, while Mary picks up prescriptions across the street. We scarf furiously. And onward to Vidant.

Heads swimming with information, we absorb even more for the next hour and a half. My legs hurt, my back and neck hurt, and I'm falling down sleepy. And I'm not the pregnant one. She's in even worse shape.

We finally make it back home forty-five minutes shy of twelve hours since we originally left the house.

Then the phone rings. Our friend, who's planning our baby shower that's happening in two and a half weeks, wants to know where we're registered. We're not. Amongst all the madness, we haven't gotten around to doing it. And don't know what to register for anyway. (We're getting help, though.)

Nice! One more thing to worry about. We promise to register this weekend, and we will.

After the four-hour childcare class on Saturday morning. Assuming we're not packing up boxes and trying to move out of house and home.

And next week's Thanksgiving. Which we're hosting. Maybe. I can't even think about that yet.

Surviving this week is top priority. And maybe just surviving in general.

POSTSCRIPT  –  A 5-Song Soundtrack To Our Life At The Present Time

Flash Fiction: "Regrets"

I wrote this short story a long time ago, probably as far back as high school. I didn't even remember writing it until I started re-reading it recently. It's extremely clichéd in places, and definitely shows signs of an inexperienced writer, but I'm not terribly embarrassed of it in general. I corrected my own grammar in a few places and updated some of my original word choices, but overall it's the same piece I wrote over 15 years ago. Enjoy!

"REGRETS"

The streets seemed endless on that muggy November morning. The man felt like he'd been walking for years, but it had only been a few hours. The man could not remember when or why he had started walking. He just knew – or felt – he was running away from something or someone.

He sought shelter in a secluded alley near 35th Street, and his once-agile body collapsed in a near-lifeless heap. Exhaustion had set in, and he knew he could not go on. It didn't take long for sleep to come. And with sleep, dreams. 

Behind closed eyelids, the man saw himself as a child. He watched himself storming off, spouting obscenities at his mother as she stood there, resentful teardrops streaming down her cheeks. He couldn't remember what he had done to her, but he knew that it was the first time he had ever seen her cry. And it hurt him that he'd hurt her.

Then the man envisioned himself once again; this time he was older, but not by much. He was standing beside a beautiful young woman at the altar of a grand cathedral, as hundreds of friends and family looked on. They had come to witness the joining of these two young people who by all appearances seemed to be the epitome of happiness, innocence, and everything that was good in life. Six months later, when their child was born, the shock had been so great for the man's mother that she would spend the remainder of her days in a rest home, though she was only 47 when she was admitted.

Then the man saw himself in more recent years, behind steel bars, sharing his troubles with his 300-pound cellmate, a convicted ax murderer. The man was telling his "friend" about how he'd abandoned his wife and child, traveled across the country, robbing grocery stores and convenient stores along the way, and had finally been caught red-handed standing over the dead body of a decrepit old woman who'd refused to give him her purse.

This startling vision jolted him out of his reverie. The man looked around him. The secluded alley was still secluded. Then seemingly out of nowhere, a hooded figure appeared before him. The face was obscured in shadows, but the eyes were vividly visible. These were the eyes of his heartbroken mother. 

He stared deep into the eyes again. This time they were the eyes of his young bride, innocently mirroring his own appearance. He turned away from the figure, but curiosity compelled to turn back and take one last glance.

With great surprise, he found himself peering into his own eyes. The hooded figure, it seemed, was now none other than himself.

"Why?" he eagerly asked the hooded figure, frowning in disbelief. The eyes spoke to him, without words. Suddenly, he understood everything.

He realized that the person now standing before him was the person he might have been. If he'd only turned away when he'd first confronted temptation. If he'd only chosen right instead of wrong. He could have been someone else. Instead, he'd lived each day acting out someone else's life.

The man bowed his head in shame, yielding to the despair that had quickly consumed his entire being. He looked up to find that he was alone again. He knew that he would always be alone now. Because this was the life he had chosen.

And with a deep sigh of utter regret, he breathed his last breath.

The Real People Behind Some Famous Brand Names

A lot of the brands of foods, clothes, appliances, and what have you that we use every day are named after the people who invented and/or developed these products. Which got me thinking...what do these people look like? Here's a few of the ones I found. You might find them interesting...

Ever seen this guy before?

No? Well, don't feel bad. I hadn't, either. This is Duncan Hines.

Now where have you heard that name before?

Oh yeah, that's where! (Great, now I want brownies...)

Maybe you've used one of these gadgets before...

Or maybe you own a pair of Bushnell binoculars. If you're a hunter, 

you might even have a Bushnell rifle scope. Ever wonder what 

that Bushnell guy looks like? Me neither. But just for the 

sake of argument, here he is. Mr. David P. Bushnell...

Now what about this lady? She look familiar?

No? But I bet you know her name pretty well.

It's Liz Claiborne. She designs clothes. Like these...

Maybe you own a set of these from way back when?

These weirdly-named encyclopedias were named for their

publishers. First, you've got Mr. Isaac Kaufmann Funk...

And his publishing partner, Mr. Adam Willis Wagnalls...

Interesting-looking character, that one. Anyway...

Do you like cookies as much as I do? You do?

Did you ever try Mrs. Fields' cookies?

They're good, aren't they? Well, in case you were wondering

what Mrs. Fields actually looks like (unlikely), this is her...

Her friends just call her Debbi.

Now this guy just looks like an old-school baseball player, 

huh? Which makes sense, 'cuz that's what he was...at first. 

Upon retiring from baseball, however, this dapper gent got 

into the sporting goods business. His name's Albert G. Spalding. 

You've probably come in contact with one or more

of his products at some point, I'll bet. Like this one...

Do you like mayonnaise? I do. (My wife doesn't.)

Ever wonder what the guy who came up with Hellmann's 

looks like? No? I didn't think so. But humor me for just a 

minute. This is Mr. Richard Hellmann in the flesh...

Incidentally, there was never an actual person

named Miracle Whip. Sorry to burst your bubble.

Do these guys look familiar?

I didn't think so. This is Bill Hewlett and his business partner,

Dave Packard. They started this IT business called Hewlett-

Packard a long time ago. You might have one of their printers?

What about this lady? Ever seen her before?

Probably not. Her name is Lena Himmelstein Bryant.

When she started designing clothes, she changed 

around the letters of her first name and dropped her 

maiden name. Now maybe you've heard of her?

Maybe you're one of those folks like my dad who loves a fancy

pen. (I've got something for everybody here, people!) Have

you heard of Parker Pens? Here's what some of them look like...

Pretty nice, huh? Anyway, Parker Pens (like practically everything

else in this list) was named after the founder of the company. In this

case, that person was Mr. George Safford Parker. This is him...

Ever been to Barnes & Noble to buy a book?

I know I sure have. I even worked at one for four years. Anyway,

before it was a mega-chain, Barnes & Noble Booksellers was only

in one location in downtown Manhattan. It was started by two 

guys named – not surprisingly – Mr. Barnes and Mr. Noble. 

I couldn't find a picture of Mr. Charles Barnes. But here's

a pic of his bookselling partner, Mr. Gilbert Clifford Noble...

Do you wear jeans? You probably do. If so, 

what brand do you prefer? Perhaps Lee Jeans?

Well, that's certainly a disturbing ad. But anyway...

The Lee Jeans Company was started by a fellow 

named Mr. Henry David Lee. This is him...

Maybe you prefer Levi's?

If so, you may be interested to know (or not)

what Mr. Levi Strauss, the jeans company's

founder, looked like. This would be him...

Maybe you're one of those people who just has to have top-of-

the-line accessories (I'm not judging). Like Louis Vuitton...

You may be interested to know that the real Louis

Vuitton was quite creepy-looking. This is him...

I'll bet you don't know who this guy is.

But I'll bet you recognize his last name.

This is Mr. James A. Folger...

Yes, that Folger. The guy who came up

with Folgers coffee. It's pretty good, too!

Maybe you like shoes. Well, whether you like them or

not, chances are you have to wear them out in public.

Anyway, did you ever own a pair of Vans? (I never did.)

Well, Vans got their name from their co-founders, brothers

Paul and James Van Doren. I couldn't find a good

picture of both of them, but this is James Van Doren...

Okay, hang with me here. There's only a few more of these...

Like I was saying earlier, maybe you're one of this folks who 

likes high-end stuff. Maybe you're not a Louis Vuitton kind 

of person. Maybe Dolce & Gabbana is more up your alley...

This is Domenico Dolce and Stefano Gabbana. They

design stuff. It costs a lot. But people like it. A lot.

Now here's an interesting-looking fellow. The 

name's E. E. Dickie. Nickname: "Colonel."

 No, not the fried chicken colonel. This guy makes clothes.

Hard-working clothes for hard-working...workers.

He calls them Dickies.

Now, here's an interesting story. This guy, Mr. Charles Revson...

...partnered with his brother, Mr. Joseph Revson...

...and another guy named Joseph Lachman (not 

pictured) to form a company that sold cosmetics. The

brothers didn't think that "Revson" was a very good

name for their company, plus they felt bad about leaving

Mr. Lachman out entirely, so they took the "L" from

Lachman's name and used it to replace the "S" in 

"Revson" and came up with the name "Revlon."

And it stuck...

This guy probably doesn't look familiar. But chances are,

you've heard his name a time or two. He sells sporting goods,

outdoor apparel, and even luggage, if I'm not mistaken.

The name's Eddie Bauer...

You might have one of these at home...

But have you ever seen a picture of the guys whose names grace

this and hundreds of other tools like it? Well, you have now. Ladies

and gentlemen, Mr. S. Duncan Black and Mr. Alonzo G. Decker...

You may have some of these tires on your automobile right now...

If so, then you owe it to yourself to know what Mr. Firestone

looks like. If not, well, you've come this far, so you may as 

well look at the picture anyway. This is Mr. Harvey Firestone...

I saved a picture of this guy, but I've forgotten who he 

was and why he was important. Chances are, he invented or 

developed some well-known product that still bears his

name. But I didn't make myself a note about him, so I can't

actually identify him. Anyway, here he is...some old guy.

The Poky Little Puppy Returns: An Original Story For Kids

With our kid well on his way to being here, I've been thinking a lot about books I loved as a kid. My absolute favorite book when I was young was the Little Golden Book classic, The Poky Little Puppy. Back when I was in high school, for an English class journal entry, I wrote a sequel to the original story. I've never done anything with it until now. But here it is. If you like it, feel free to read it to your kids. If you don't like it, that's okay too...

"THE POKY LITTLE PUPPY RETURNS"

Once upon a time the poky little puppy made his fantastic voyage over the hills, under the fence, and beyond. No matter what dangers he faced, the poky little puppy was fearless. He had courage when all his other brothers cowered in fear.

Over the next few years, the poky little puppy's brothers grew to be fine, strapping dogs and were all adopted out to caring, loving families. But the poky little puppy was still poky and still little.

Just recently, the poky little puppy had been abandoned, and the dogcatcher had come and put him in a dirty old cage in an animal shelter and left him there. Indeed, it seemed that nobody loved the poky little puppy anymore.

The other dogs in the animal shelter were big and strong and could run fast. The poky little puppy was small, weak, and very slow. The other dogs barked loud, but the poky little puppy's bark sounded more like a squeak.

Then one day, the kind old people who ran the animal shelter decided that there was no more room for the poky little puppy, and that he was going to have to be put to sleep. The poky little puppy didn't understand what the humans were planning to do, but he knew that it was scary and that it was not good.

So the poky little puppy decided to run away. But how would he break through the wire bars? He tried to gnaw at them, but it made his teeth hurt and the wire still wouldn't break anyway. He tried to dig a hole underneath his cage, but the floor was cement and it hurt his claws to scratch at it.

Exhausted, the poky little puppy lay his head down on the cold cement. It was no use, he decided. Then he had an idea!

Maybe he could climb out the top of the cage. Only a thin cardboard layer stapled to the wood frame of the cage separated him from freedom. But how could he ever climb up the side of the cage and claw himself free?

He tried several times, unsuccessfully, to climb the cage. But he was already tired, and it was a very hard task. Then with the last bit of strength he could muster, he scaled the wall of the cage and began butting the cardboard with his head over and over again till it finally came loose.

The poky little puppy looked back at the filthy cage that had been his miserable home these past few days and knew he would not miss it. 

With hope in his heart, the poky little puppy squeezed his way out the top of the cage. All that was left now was to escape from the shelter itself, which was easier said than done.

Just then, the old man who ran the shelter saw that the poky little puppy was loose and began running after him. The poky little puppy turned on all the speed he could manage, and raced down the hallway toward the screened-in front door.

The old man was gaining on him, but the poky little puppy was not going to be stopped this time. The man ran toward the screen door and tried to block the doorway. But when he did the door opened behind him, and the poky little puppy slipped right through it.

At last, the poky little puppy was free! But where would he go now? What would he do? He thought about it for a minute and decided that he didn't care. Anywhere he went was better than where he had been.

As the sun set on the western sky, the poky little puppy waddled away, over the hills, under the fence, and on his way to a new life.

THE END