Crazy Nuts

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It was a chilly day in the Florida Panhandle, but for some reason, that didn’t stop me from throwing on a sweatshirt and shorts then hopping on my motorcycle for a ride to visit one of my friends and his wife at their house that was off of the military installation where I lived at the time.

About five minutes into my 15 minute ride, the breeze that had been entering the scoop in my shorts that led to my nether regions made me feel as if I were riding with no pants on. Uncomfortably cold and numb from the waist down, I arrived at my friend’s house and went inside.

His wife was sitting on the couch and looked at my shorts and almost screamed what I thought was “Frank! Your nuts!”. I instinctively moved my hands to my lap to cover myself, feeling sure that somehow my bits had exposed themselves and I was hanging brain in front of her in her own living room. A true feeling of dread and embarrassment spread over me.

Soon after she quit laughing, I realized that she meant “Frank! You’re nuts!” because you’d have to be crazy to ride a motorcycle in shorts when it was that cold outside – you know, THAT kind of nuts.

Let this story help to illustrate the practical application of understanding the material difference between the words ‘your’ and ‘you’re’.

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Untitled (for there are no words)

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Earlier this evening as I sat at a traffic light initially minding my own business, I casually looked over to see what was going on next to me. We were three wide at the light. There was a guy in an SUV in the lane next to me who hadn’t pulled all the way up to the light which left me with a full view of the late model Honda sedan two lanes over from me. In that car sat a lady who appeared to be clean, professional and in her mid-30’s.

Nothing abnormal about that scene so far, right? Well, I held my gaze at her long enough to see that she had one of her booger hooks stuffed in her nose to the second knuckle aggressively scraping her nasal bacon. There was no looking away at that point. She stared straight ahead and relied upon the cloak of invisibility she must have thought her car provided to hide her vile habit from public view.

Ladies and gentlemen, I haven’t even reached the climax of this story yet. After hooking the booger with her long and spindly digit, she withdrew her finger and its harvest from her nostril, did a barely perceptible pinch and roll and ATE THAT BOOGER! (I’m getting the willies just typing this.)

Time seemed to stand still while this was going on so I don’t know how long I was there but she did this three times at that traffic light. Not once did she turn her head to see who might be watching her engage in this deplorable habit.

The light changed and I didn’t know what to do so I laid on my horn as I drove next to her. I’m not sure what I hoped to achieve by doing that but I desperately wanted her to know that I knew of her dark habit so that she might be a little ashamed. It wouldn’t end like that though as her head and eyes were locked in a forward-looking position even as I honked the horn in one of those sustained honks (probably because the horn on a Volvo S80 sedan is not nearly as impressive as you might think it would be). Evidently the guy next to me watched the vile show she put on for us because he looked at me and smiled and shook his head and then started laughing at me as I honked my horn.

I don’t know about you people, but I always thought that talk about people eating their own boogers was just an exaggeration because nobody would really do something like that. That’s something that separates human beings from apes. Well, I can tell you that she walks among us – she, with her booger fingers and booger breath.

If I’m missing something, and it’s a commonly accepted underground habit for adult human beings to pick and eat their own boogers, and you’re one who does that, please, never tell me you do. I can overlook many character/personality flaws to see the good in people but if you pick and eat your own boogers, we simply can no longer be friends.

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Unholy Water

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Sometimes, for no particular reason, random memories about what might seem like insignificant events to others come rushing back to me. The most recent one that just came to me involved a road trip that I was on with several friends.

We were staying in a condo at a mountain resort, and at the time, we were hanging out in the pool area. Several of my friends were playing cards at a table on the pool deck and I had just come out of the pool, dripping wet, and went over to see what they were playing. I stood there for a minute and saw that one of my friends looked at me with an agitated and simultaneously horrified look on his face and screamed “DAMMIT FRANK! YOU’RE DRIPPING YOUR BALL WATER ALL OVER MY SHOES!” I hadn’t noticed that I was straddling the tennis shoes that he had kicked off when we first arrived at the pool and indeed just how much “ball water” my swim trunks had released into his shoes until he said something.

I think the thing that was so funny to me about this was how I had absolutely no idea that I was standing over his shoes, how manic he got about it and how he instinctually declared the water from my swim trunks as being “ball water.”

My bad -as they say.

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Facebook Suggests A Career Change: It’s Just As If They Know Me!

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I’ve been Facebook target marketed again. I think it’s great that the program is now open to 45 year olds, especially since I’m a 45 year old.

It’s great to know that if I pull the trigger on this, within 1 month I’ll be taking steps to put on rain gear and war paint to begin a new career that involves standing in the woods in the rain with a menacing look on my face!

Before I click any buttons, I think I’ll give it a trial run tonight in my neighborhood by dressing up in this outfit and choosing a random house to on my street to stare at for a few hours. How else will I know if I’m really cut out for this?

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What Did That Sign Say?

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It’s good to know that whenever I decide to take up vaping as a hobby, there are about 15 vape stores within 2 miles of my house.

The newest, Avail Vapor, must have just opened a week or so ago because I just recently noticed it being there. I believe that the sign is going to cause an accident sooner or later. I say this because I know that every time I have passed it, I have done a double-take because when you’re about 200 yards away from that sign, at night, driving 35mph, you’d swear it says “Anal Vapor” – and each time, a “what the hell did that say?” reaction instinctively comes out of me.

When we drove past it last night, Jason and I talked about it and we both thought that Anal Vapor sounds like the superhero that nobody wants to be around. Like the one who huffs flatulence to gain superhuman strength but he’s sad because people don’t ever call him to help because his behavior is so off-putting.

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Caroler Visits Give Me Nervous Gas

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I hope that we’re not visited by a choir of carolers this year. Not because I don’t like Christmas or Christmas music – I like both of those things.

I just don’t like when strangers from a choir group try to impress me with their singing. I always feel like they’re watching my facial expressions closely while they’re singing to see if I’m giving off non-verbal signals that indicate whether or not I’m truly impressed. Mainly, I think my hangup with this situation is that I never know where to look when they’re singing. If I stare at them with direct eye contact the whole time, I feel like that’s weird because do I lock eyes with just one of them the whole time? Share an equal amount of eye to eye contact or continuously move my gaze back and forth over the group like I’m scanning them? If I look at the ground or away from them it feels disrespectful. And what do I do with my mouth? Should I just grin like an idiot? Do I sing along? Should I remain stoic? It’s really way too much pressure for me.

Maybe I’ll search for YouTube videos to learn to make myself temporarily pass out as a defense mechanism to avoid the whole thing because surely they’d stop singing if I crumpled to the deck before they get through the first line of Carol of the Bells?

Anyhoo, if you’re in a choir and you stop by my house while out caroling or you’re with your choir buddies at the mall and you see me at the food court and think that I might like to watch you perform the new song that you and the choir wrote to see if I like it or not, please keep in mind that I would not like to see that. It’s just painfully uncomfortable for me.

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O Christmas Meat, O Christmas Meat…

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Late this afternoon, I was notified by one of my sons that a large styrofoam cooler was sitting at our doorstep.

Upon further investigation, I noticed that it was a huge assortment of Omaha Steaks addressed to me! There wasn’t a card inside or anything to reveal who would be so kind as to send me the gift of meat but there it was – an assortment of tasty steaks, chops, meatballs, apple tarts, sausage and other things that please me. Only a message that said “Merry Christmas” appeared on the shipping label where the sender can personalize a note.

For a moment, I had to think back to see if there may have been a point within the last week or two where I may have had too many drinks and ordered online meat for myself but I’m certain that couldn’t be the case because I stay in control of myself these days.

I’ll find out who did this and when I do, I’ll seek you out so that I might gaze longingly into your eyes where you will see my soul and how it dances at the receipt of mail order meat. We’ll follow up that gaze with a long and meaningful hug that conveys my appreciation of your thoughtfulness.

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