Tag Archives: family

Behold!!

From TV Troupes:

 A new preacher comes to a small town on a Friday, and decides it would be a good idea to visit each member of his congregation at home to get to know them before Sunday’s service. All goes well until he comes to one house. The preacher knocks, and rings the door bell, but even though the lights are on and activity can be seen inside, no one answers the door. Exasperated, but deciding it’s best not to bother them, the preacher takes a card out of his pocket and writes “Revelation 3:20” on it, before slipping it under the door and leaving. Comes Sunday, after finishing his sermon at the local church, the preacher finds the card in his collection basket, and sees that the resident of the house has written “Genesis 3:10” on it.

Revelation 3:20Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and will dine with him, and he with Me.
Genesis 3:10I heard thy voice in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked. 
Dr. Larry day is a retired J-School professor turned humor writer. His book, Day Dreaming: Tales From the Fourth Dementia is available for purchase via his website: http://www.daydreaming.co
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Eloise Cleans Up ©

 

Eloise Simpelkins made herself a pile of money by taking advantage of the fastidiousness of rich people. Folks in Letongaloosa generally disapprove of taking advantage. Letongaloosans feel that taking advantage is not neighborly, and Letongaloosa is a neighborly town.

But people seem to approve of the way Eloise cleaned up financially. She built an enterprise that took advantage of the foibles of people like those who live in La Mancha, the posh section of town where the streets are winding and the house numbers are hand painted on Spanish tile.

Eloise Simpelkins is plain—beginning with her name and continuing with her squat chunky figure, her thick unruly hair, her flat face, her squinty eyes, and her pug nose.

From her looks people conclude that Eloise isn’t smart enough to pound sand in a rat hole. Besides that, the Simpelkinses lived on the wrong side of the tracks. In reality Eloise is very bright. But she didn’t do well in school because of her looks—teachers treated her as if she were as dumb as she looked–and because she had to work long hours after school and on weekends with her mother who was a cleaning lady for people who lived in La Mancha.

When Eloise finished high school there were no college scholarships or government loans for academic underachievers from the wrong side of the tracks. And there were no good jobs for girls who looked like they weren’t smart enough to pound sand in a rat hole.

So Eloise became, like her mother, a full time cleaning lady for people who lived in La Mancha. Things were slow at first, but soon Eloise had all the work she could handle. She cleaned while groups of La Mancha women played bridge, mahjongg, and chatted over cups of coffee.

One day Eloise overheard a group of women complaining. They hated cleaning bathrooms on the mornings that their cleaning ladies were coming. The women didn’t want the cleaning ladies to see the cruddy toilets, the toothpaste-encrusted washbasins and mirrors, and the gunk-spattered showers in the bathrooms of their slovenly husbands and teenagers.

“I’d just die if Ermaline saw Reginald’s poopy toilet,” one of them said.

That gave Eloise her big idea. She would become a cleaning lady’s pre-cleaning lady. To get jobs all Eloise had to do was convince the women of La Mancha that she would be as discreet about their husbands’ filthy bathrooms as their doctors were about their medical conditions, and their lawyers were about the flaws in their prenuptial agreements.

The women of La Mancha paid Eloise handsomely—much more handsomely for her discretion than for her bathroom cleaning efforts. Soon Eloise was making as much as a cleaning lady’s pre-cleaning lady as she would have made as a school teacher with a masters degree.

Eloise was bitten by the entrepreneurial bug. Intuition told her that wealthy women in other upper middle class enclaves around the state and the nation were similar to women who lived in La Mancha. Research proved her right. She saw an opportunity to set up a nationwide franchise business that featured discretion-based pre-cleaning lady services.

Eloise is now CEO of a highly successful nationwide cleaning lady’s pre-cleaning lady enterprise. And business is about to get better. Eloise went undercover in one of her Eastern seaboard franchises. She was working as a cleaning lady’s pre-cleaning lady. A couple of women were playing gin rummy.

One said, “Can I confide in you?”

The other said, “Always, dear.”

The first said, “Tell me if I’m crazy, but I’m getting uncomfortable about having the pre-cleaning lady see George’s filthy bathroom.”

“You’re not crazy,” said the second woman, “I’ve been worrying about that for a month or so.”

Eloise hurried back to her company headquarters in Letongaloosa and started work on a new business plan. Next month she’ll launch a nationwide franchise operation that features a very, very discreet and ultra pricy pre-cleaning lady’s pre-cleaning lady service.

Next up: a nationally franchised service that provides come-to-your-home hair dressers who prepare women for their appointments with their hair dressers. -30-

 

Dr. Larry day is a retired J-School professor turned humor writer. His book, Day Dreaming: Tales From the Fourth Dementia is available for purchase via his website: http://www.daydreaming.co

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He’s Cured!!

Spring is here and I am SO grateful that I don’t have allergies.  My father suffered from “hay fever” (as it was called in the 1940s) when I was a kid.  He was a telephone lineman.  He worked outdoors all day long.  In the spring he would be stuffed up with hay fever all day, and often couldn’t sleep at night.  In the late 1940s  our neighborhood (in Idaho Falls, Idaho)  doctor (the kind that made house calls) was invited down to Salt Lake City to learn a new technique that was supposed to cure hay fever.  He came back and treated my Dad.  The doctor pushed flat sticks up my Dad’s nose. The sticks were coated with some kind of anti-allergic medicine.  Wow!   It cured my Dad’s hay fever and he never had it again. That was in the 1940s.  The anti-allergic  business sells millions of dollars of potions nowadays.  I wonder whatever happened to that Salt Lake doctors cure.

Dr. Larry day is a retired J-School professor turned humor writer. His book, Day Dreaming: Tales From the Fourth Dementia is available for purchase via his website: http://www.daydreaming.co

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Sent From My…©

 

When you receive a message with a pretentious post-script  telling you that the sender was e-mailing you from a super-duper cell phone, you can reply with your own super-duper post script:

1.Sent from my 1943 Jack Armstrong Radio Show secret decoder ring.

2.Sent from my electrified chain link fence.

3.Sent from my Dog’s supper dish.

4.Sent from the drain spout on my Aunt Clara’s kitchen sink.

5.Sent from a cell phone I found in a dumpster behind Kelly’s Pizza Parlor.

6.Sent from my wife’s hair dryer. (from my girlfriend’s, from my boyfriend’s, from my grandpa’s hair dryer.)

 

Dr. Larry day is a retired J-School professor turned humor writer. His book, Day Dreaming: Tales From the Fourth Dementia is available for purchase via his website: http://www.daydreaming.co

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Coping Advice For Men

 

When you were a youngster and your Mom gave you a task, you coped by dawdling, delaying and hiding. Eventually you she caught up with you and forced you to do the task. But you did it as slowly and dawdlingly as possible. That always hacked Mom off.

Now you are grown up. You have a wife or significant other. You realize that the boyhood task-completion strategy didn’t work. Your mom was on you every two minutes, and finally she stood over you and supervised the work.

As a mature individual you have learned better than to follow that boyhood strategy. You have adopted a new one. Now you jump in and get the task done as fast as possible. You’ve learned to your chagrin that strategy doesn’t work either. If you do it fast, you’ll have to do it over. Guaranteed. So here’s some counter-intuitive advice: Go back to you boyhood strategy, but with a slight adjustment.

Accept the task cheerfully. Then—this is the counterintuitive part— you do the task slowly and methodically—in other words, you dawdle. If you take 20 minutes to do a task that your wife can do in five, your pace is about right. She will assume that, because of the time you are taking that you are being thorough. Even if she inspects and finds something amiss, you’ll get credit for giving the task your full attention. That’s the thing. You respected the task and the task master. She might even pat you on the head.

 

Dr. Larry day is a retired J-School professor turned humor writer. His book, Day Dreaming: Tales From the Fourth Dementia is available for purchase via his website: http://www.daydreaming.co

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The Best Medicine

To call Jeremiah Teancrumpets, the British billionaire, irritable, short tempered and demanding would be like calling the Sahara a dry sandy desert in North Africa.  His Excellency was known to a select few as “Jerry.” Everyone else called him “Sir Jeremiah,” or  “M’Lord.”

At least to his face.  But whether Jeremiah Teancrumpets was Jerry, or M’Lord to his face, many folks called him “that blankety-blank old blankety-blank,”  behind his back.

Sir Jeremiah acquired his fortune the old fashioned way–he inherited it. His father, Lord Regis Teancrumpets acquired his piles of money in the same way. It’s difficult, but if you look deep enough into the roots of the aristocratic Teancrumpet family tree, you will find  a gaggle of sharp-eared working-class ancestors.

These ancestors owned a dingy eatery where foreign entrepreneurs  met clandestinely with the wealthy landed gentry to work out the details of very profitable overseas transactions.  The clandestine proceedings were designed to keep the monarchy from demanding its cut of lucrative overseas deals.  The Teancrumpet ancestors listened in on these business conversations. They opted for the low road with the information they garnered. They didn’t inform the crown as was their bounden duty. Instead the Teancrumpet ancestors took a cut of the action from the conspiring businessmen.

It was cheaper for the entrepreneurs to cut the eatery extorionists in on a small part of the profits than to risk losing their heads in the Tower of London.  A couple of generations later, the lowly Teancrumpets were kissing the rest of the working class goodbye and moving on up to the the British aristocracy.

Sir Jeremiah Teancrumpets inherited wealth, and, genetically speaking, he also inherited an irritable, short tempered, demanding personality, that almost cost him his life.

One of Sir J’s tirades precipitated a physical crisis that led to a transformation in his behavior.  One morning in his dressing room Sir J’s trouser zipper stuck. He flew into a rage, and was going through his repertoire of obscenities and expletives at the top of his lungs when he suddenly coughed, gagged, and fell on the floor  unconscious.

Tebbs, the butler, who was laying out Sir Jeremiah’s clothes, shouted to the upstairs maid and told her to phone for medical help. Then he began emergency CPR. Fortunately for Sir J, one of Britain’s leading research cardiologists owned the adjoining estate.  Dr. Hanover came at once. He stabilized Sir Jeremiah, and then accompanied him in the ambulance to the hospital.   It was Dr. Hanover who directed Sir J’s  recovery and recuperation.

When it was clear that Sir Jeremiah was going to make a full recovery, Dr. Hanover told him:  “Jerry if you fly into another one of those rages, you won’t survive it.  If you want to live, you’re going to have to change your behavior.  I can help you.  In my research I have developed a simple, effective way for you to deal with your angry outbursts.”

An uncharacteristically subdued Sir Jeremiah Teancrumpets  inquired:

“What do I have to do?”

“Laugh,” said the doctor.

“LAUGH!” shouted Sir J.

“Out loud.” said Dr. Hanover quietly.

Sir Jeremiah’s left eye began twitching.  Blood rose to his cheeks and his bald pate.  Obscenities began to form.  Sir Jeremiah was about to launch in to one of his classic anger fits.

“LAUGH, YOU MISERABLE BLIGHTER,” bellowed Dr. Hanover. “LAUGH OR YOU’LL BE DEAD IN TWO MINUTES!”

Rage and fear competed on the face of Sir Jeremiah Teancrumpets.  Fear won.  The obscenities died in on his lips, and out of his mouth came a strangled gurgle, then a weak, lugubrious giggle.

“Good,” said the doctor. “Again. Laugh again, you old blister!”

For the next half hour Dr. Hanover insulted and cajoled Sir Jeremiah Teancrumpets, and for the next half hour Sir J responded with increasingly fluent laughter.

There followed weeks of laugher therapy in Dr. Hanover’s clinic.

Thus it was that Sir Jeremiah Teancrumpets learned to laugh his way back to good health–and increasing wealth.  Soon Sir Jeremiah’s laugh was striking greater fear in the hearts of his adversaries than his rage ever had.

 

Dr. Larry day is a retired J-School professor turned humor writer. His book, Day Dreaming: Tales From the Fourth Dementia is available for purchase via his website: http://www.daydreaming.co

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Kaybe’s Cosmic Christmas ©

Over the years some of my columns have featured my robot friend KB11.2 (Kaybe) and other space aliens with whom I hang out at the Enchantment, a dingy roadhouse north of here.  I occurred to me that I’ve never introduced Kaybe’s family.   I’d like readers to get acquainted with them this holiday season in a  short story that is just “outta this world”!!

My Alien friend Kaybe looks like a giant tuna fish can. Erector Set arms sprout from the curved sides of his body. Three spindly legs drop from the flat underside of his stainless steel torso.  He has ball bearing wheels for feet, and three sensor-eyes wave at you from the ends of floppy antennae on the top his lid.

Kaybe  comes from  the Alpha Centauri star system. Many years ago on a visit to Earth,  Kaybe saved my marriage.  We have been friends ever since.  Kaybe communicates telepathically– his voice comes into your mind.  When we speak English, Kaybe sounds like CNN’s Anderson Cooper.  When we speak Spanish he sounds like the Mexican comedian Cantinflas.

We meet, as I said, in a back booth at the Enchantment where I spend quiet evenings sipping a soft drink.  No one at the Enchantment pays any attention when Kaybe rolls up to my booth.  Half the patrons are space aliens themselves, including the waitress, Four Finger Fannie, and customers Harry the Hulk and Miniature Mike.

Kaybe’s wife is named Zeeruba.  They’ve been married for many an earth year.  Zeeruba comes from Hebe, a minor planet in the Andromeda galaxy.  She chose to keep her maiden name rather than become “Mrs. 11.2.”.  Everyone calls her “Ms. Zee.”  Zee is as square as Kaybe is round, but she has the same kind of ball bearing wheels for feet, and the same three sensor eyes that wave at you from the ends of floppy antennae on top or her lid.

Hebians communicate differently from robots on Kaybe’s planet. Hebians communicate with a pleasant musical tone I can best describe as series of beeps that microwave ovens make to tell you that your Pop Tarts© are warm. A room full of chattering Hebians is a very tuneful place.

Kaybe met Zeeruba at a singles dance one night when Kaybe stopped by the planet Hebe on a trip through the Andromeda galaxy. The dance floor was crowded but none of the couples were robots. Zeeruba looked lonely standing at the edge of the dance floor. Kaybe rolled up and gave her a big telepathic “HI”. Hebians don’t receive telepathic messages, but Zeeruba, was happy to see a familiar robot shape, and beeped a happy greeting.

Attracted to each other, but unable to converse, the two looked around the dance floor for a translation station. The Galactic Supreme Council’s Polyglot Communication Committee provides translation stations on virtually all planets except Earth. Kaybe and Zeeruba found a nook with a translation station, ordered refreshments, and began to chat as if they had known each other a long time.

By the time the evening was over the two agreed to meet again soon. Over time their friendship blossomed into robotic love and they sought out a clergy-robot. They had an official diode exchange in a beautiful ceremony attended by their loved ones. After a gala galactic honeymoon, Kaybe and Zeeruba found a little place on Hebe and settled down and were very happy.

After a while Kaybe and Zeeruba decided it was time to start a family, so they went to the local hardware store and picked up what they needed.  A week later, Voila!  There was Kay-Ruba 11.3.  Everyone calls him Reebie.  Young  Reebie has some of Kaybe’s round features and some of Zeeruba’s square features, but young Reebie has four sensor eyes at the ends of the antennae that sprout from the top of his lid.  He communicates both telepathically like his dad and with beeps like his mom.  And boy, does he ever communicate!  Kaybe and Zeeruba are certainly not taciturn, but you’d think they were when Reebie is around—your mind is full of telepathic messages and the air is filled with beeps.  Reebie is very intelligent and he seeks inputs from all  the galaxies.  That’s how he came to learn about Christmas, here on our little planet in the Andromeda sector of the Milky Way galaxy.

“Hey Dad,” he said telepathically to Kaybe, and beeped to Zeeruba,  “I want to celebrate Christmas.”

And so it was that a few days before Christmas, Emmaline and I heard a knock at the door.  When we opened it, there stood Kaybe, Zeeruba and young Reebie  Their Erector set arms were loaded with bright, beautifully wrapped packages.  Some of the packages shone with a cosmic glow, while some others hummed, beeped or whistled quietly.   We invited them to stay at our house for the holidays.  After they got settled in, we all went down to the Enchantment for a soft drink.  A big holiday party was in full swing.  Four Finger Fannie took the night off from waiting tables and joined in the fun.  Miniature Mike and Harry the Hulk and the other space aliens welcomed us.  We sang (and beeped and telepathed, and in other ways communicated carols and songs of the holidays.  And, cliché or not, the phrase fits:  “A good time was had by all.” And that, in cosmic terms, is a great deal indeed.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

Dr. Larry day is a retired J-School professor turned humor writer. His book, Day Dreaming: Tales From the Fourth Dementia is available for purchase via his website: http://www.daydreaming.co

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