I’m hoping these won’t be my thoughts while on the road tomorrow.


The idiots ruined everything
The idiots talked too much
The idiots made it rain
The idiots always complained
Even though, they had everything
The idiots drove too fast
In slow down stretches
They were ungrateful
Miserable, idiot, wretches
Idiots took it all from me
My sanity–my dignity
Whatever happens
I don’t care one whit
I’m not responsible
Because the idiots
Drove me to it!

When things don’t go well, it helps to think of yourself as a genius and the rest of the world as a bunch of idiots. –Tom Perotta–


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A tale spun from an actual event.



–Photo Debbie Williams/WKRG TV–

“Ouch,” Clint caught the half-eaten pine cone that just bounced off the top of his head.  The guilty party–a squirrel in the pine tree above.

“Come back here, you ornery little bugger, ” Clint threatened–shook his fist.  The recalcitrant rodent, flicked its bushy tail and climbed higher.  That little bugger deliberately hit me–right on top of the old brain box  

It was early Monday morning–the weekend was over.  What else could go wrong?  Sometime later, on the way to work, a grasshopper jumped from the bushes–landed on his arm.

This wasn’t just any grasshopper–this was Black Bart.  Black Bart’s shiny exoskeleton glistened in the sun.  This special grasshopper hailed from the “Land of things too weird to be believed.”

Black Bart was out for some early Monday morning fun.  Clint was totally oblivious to special grasshoppers and all the rest.  Clint swatted the grasshopper…

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A Murder Most Foul #Humor #Pets

It caught absolutely no media attention.  Last night, sleep was tragically murdered.

Pure, innocent as a child, sleep snatched away in a series of tragic events.

It began with fireworks– thumps, bangs, and whistles till 9 PM.  Max, the older dog, is terrified of fireworks and gunshots.  He refused to go out and relieve himself before bedtime.  Ran, hid somewhere dark and quiet.  He’s been known to sleep in the shower.

At 3:45 AM, I awakened to Max’s scratches on the door to go out.  Thirty minutes later, Maggie came to my side of the bed, to be petted, and to remind me that Max was still outdoors.

Max was back in.  Apparently, I’d spent too much time petting Max; because there would be consequences later, when Maggie insisted on equal petting time.

Sometime, in the subsequent, early morning hours, the smoke alarms burst forth, with an impromptu, earsplitting, screeching chorus.  My first instinct, upon being awakened abruptly, was to go on a smoke detector smashing rampage–but came to my senses.

By that time, Max was, once again frightened.  The death circle completed.  There was no point in going back to bed.  Sleep had been bashed into oblivion.




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