Life on the Edge in Unexpected places:
Thought for the Day:
Colleges hate geniuses, just as convents hate saints.
Ralph Waldo Emerson US essayist & poet (1803 - 1882)
Area Man Struck by Motorist in Front of Local Bar:
(Pictures on page 3A)
Friday after work, I took upon myself to drop off prizes to people who had won a raffle here at the orphanage that a volunteer at. Yes, leg brace, water pack, crutches and all. You know me anything for the children.
Well, in all truth, it was one prize, and it was won by a bar I happen to like, so there were other motives involved. To make a long story short, I dropped off my prize, ate some deep fried pickles and had a Miller High Life, (a meal fit for a man of my nature). So, I was on my way home when it happened.
I was standing along the busy street in front of the bar getting into my truck when I got hit.
Now when I say I got hit, I mean me, myself, not the truck, or even the truck door. To be more exact it was my crutch that got hit. Knocking it into the intersection and giving me a rather large bruise around my shoulder and spraining my wrist.
Now, the driver of this car, did what any 16 year old girl would do, she left. Yes, keep right on driving. A guy in a delivery truck behind her stopped and helped pick me up (shaken not stirred). He ran on into the intersection and grabbed my crutch and helped me straiten it so it’s once again usable. At about this point the girl came back and asked “Did I hit something”. Well, yes, honey you fucking hit me and might I add it was nice of you to stop and see if I was alright.
Well, to make a long story even shorter, she cried and cried, so I told her to forget it. The guy who stopped and helped me was like “fuck that man, call the cops”. But, I didn’t. No major harm done and perhaps she learned a lesson. I was 16 and stupid once, hell I have been 38 and stupid.
Man, what a way to go. After a life lived like mine, to go out getting hit in front of a bar, dropping off prizes for a charity, while not even drunk. Now that would have been poetic.
Fate, you are my mistress:
After such an exciting afternoon, I wisely decided to return to the manor house. I have often found that like the French Army, it is at times best to retreat. And retreat I did, dear reader.
I set myself up in the living room, with a good book and a glass of ice tea (sweet tea, is there another way to drink it?), pausing only to turn on NPR. Thus thinking my day of challenges at an end.
About two chapters in the book (“Disinformation- The Book Of Lists” a more subversive book of lists for those of us who remember the trivia books of the 70’s and 80’s, it’s a easy read, and at times fun, I give it a B+), the hounds went nuts, lunging for the screen door.
The rabid dingo blood beating through their little K-9 hearts. I pulled myself up from my repose, in time to see a pit-bull stick its head through the screen door, after dinting the hell out of said door itself. The girls had it by the nose and were not letting it go.
I on the other hand, did not wish for them to pull a full grown pit-bull into my living room through the screen door, for obvious reasons. So, I started beating them off, which they took with no small surprise, since they were doing what they were trained and breed for, to kill and protect without hesitation, oh that and lick you to death if you talk to them in a baby-talk-voice.
It was at thing time, the man who owned the dog, grabbed him and pulled him away from the door, with cussing and a few well placed kicks, it was a wonder the dog didn’t turn on him.
He was a normal Pit-Bull owner for my area, a guy who weighs about 98 pounds, with an AC/DC tee-shirt, seven hairs on his chin, dirty cut-off shorts with combat boots. He was leading the dog with about 6 feet of log-chain. Yes, an AKC moment it wasn’t.
After apologizing, saying that, one of my “bitches, must be in heat” (they are both fixed) and that he would be right back to pay for the screen door, he and his hound from hell disappeared.
Man, I am a dog lover, but there are people who should not be allowed to have certain breeds, this young man was perhaps qualified to have a Rat Terrier. A Pitt-bull is bread to be a tool, and if used and raised correctly is a great dog for what is meant to do (fuck with Bulls), I don’t see family pet on that list.
So, in one day, I almost get hit in front of a bar, and then later that evening, almost get mauled to death in my living room. Both instances can lead me to believe only one thing, some Witch Doctor has put the roots on me. Rest assured, I went to Mass, and basically took a shower in Holy Water. There but by the grace of God go I, and J.C. got the mojo working for yours truly.
On the Remaining Weekend:
I didn’t go to the Pierogi Fest, much to my sadness and dismay. I couldn’t find anyone to go with me. It was about a two hour drive from my home, and I knew that after the drive and walking around, I wouldn’t be in the best shape to drive home. I couldn’t find one person who saw the joyful adventure in traveling almost to Chicago for Polish food. The fools.
Hell, I couldn’t even find anyone to go with me for my Plan B, which was going to the World War II museum, in Auburn, for some big event they were having there. (I am a guy, we like old Tanks and machine guns). I seemed everyone thought sitting in bars or going skiing at the lakes a much better plan.
So, I stayed in, and read a few books, which considering the events of Friday perhaps was a more wise course of action, it’s a wonder I didn’t hole up in a bunker for the weekend.
Saturday night, in between gigs, my loving wife came home and we went out to a new place I had scouted out for dinner. It’s a little neighborhood bar on the West side of our fair city.
Its claim to fame being that on Saturdays after 4 they serve German food. Now up until recently I was not a huge fan of German food, but that was because, I had not had real German food, made by real Germans, and dear reader this was the case. My bride and I dined on a meal fit for the Kaiser himself.
After that she dropped me off at the manor and went off to yet another gig. I am starting not to like my flowers job. So, much time away, and she pushes herself much too hard, the girl needs some down time. And JQP needs some loving…
All in all, a normal weekend in the life of yours truly.
Today’s Bill:
SONNET 100
Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?
Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem
In gentle numbers time so idly spent;
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem
And gives thy pen both skill and argument.
Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey,
If Time have any wrinkle graven there;
If any, be a satire to decay,
And make Time's spoils despised every where.
Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life;
So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife.
Quote of the Day:
Educate your children to self-control, to the habit of holding passion and prejudice and evil tendencies subject to an upright and reasoning will, and you have done much to abolish misery from their future and crimes from society.
Benjamin Franklin
US author, diplomat, inventor, physicist, politician, & printer (1706 - 1790)
Like a fly buzzing the sugar bowl of your mind, I remain:
JQP esq.
Colleges hate geniuses, just as convents hate saints.
Ralph Waldo Emerson US essayist & poet (1803 - 1882)
Area Man Struck by Motorist in Front of Local Bar:
(Pictures on page 3A)
Friday after work, I took upon myself to drop off prizes to people who had won a raffle here at the orphanage that a volunteer at. Yes, leg brace, water pack, crutches and all. You know me anything for the children.
Well, in all truth, it was one prize, and it was won by a bar I happen to like, so there were other motives involved. To make a long story short, I dropped off my prize, ate some deep fried pickles and had a Miller High Life, (a meal fit for a man of my nature). So, I was on my way home when it happened.
I was standing along the busy street in front of the bar getting into my truck when I got hit.
Now when I say I got hit, I mean me, myself, not the truck, or even the truck door. To be more exact it was my crutch that got hit. Knocking it into the intersection and giving me a rather large bruise around my shoulder and spraining my wrist.
Now, the driver of this car, did what any 16 year old girl would do, she left. Yes, keep right on driving. A guy in a delivery truck behind her stopped and helped pick me up (shaken not stirred). He ran on into the intersection and grabbed my crutch and helped me straiten it so it’s once again usable. At about this point the girl came back and asked “Did I hit something”. Well, yes, honey you fucking hit me and might I add it was nice of you to stop and see if I was alright.
Well, to make a long story even shorter, she cried and cried, so I told her to forget it. The guy who stopped and helped me was like “fuck that man, call the cops”. But, I didn’t. No major harm done and perhaps she learned a lesson. I was 16 and stupid once, hell I have been 38 and stupid.
Man, what a way to go. After a life lived like mine, to go out getting hit in front of a bar, dropping off prizes for a charity, while not even drunk. Now that would have been poetic.
Fate, you are my mistress:
After such an exciting afternoon, I wisely decided to return to the manor house. I have often found that like the French Army, it is at times best to retreat. And retreat I did, dear reader.
I set myself up in the living room, with a good book and a glass of ice tea (sweet tea, is there another way to drink it?), pausing only to turn on NPR. Thus thinking my day of challenges at an end.
About two chapters in the book (“Disinformation- The Book Of Lists” a more subversive book of lists for those of us who remember the trivia books of the 70’s and 80’s, it’s a easy read, and at times fun, I give it a B+), the hounds went nuts, lunging for the screen door.
The rabid dingo blood beating through their little K-9 hearts. I pulled myself up from my repose, in time to see a pit-bull stick its head through the screen door, after dinting the hell out of said door itself. The girls had it by the nose and were not letting it go.
I on the other hand, did not wish for them to pull a full grown pit-bull into my living room through the screen door, for obvious reasons. So, I started beating them off, which they took with no small surprise, since they were doing what they were trained and breed for, to kill and protect without hesitation, oh that and lick you to death if you talk to them in a baby-talk-voice.
It was at thing time, the man who owned the dog, grabbed him and pulled him away from the door, with cussing and a few well placed kicks, it was a wonder the dog didn’t turn on him.
He was a normal Pit-Bull owner for my area, a guy who weighs about 98 pounds, with an AC/DC tee-shirt, seven hairs on his chin, dirty cut-off shorts with combat boots. He was leading the dog with about 6 feet of log-chain. Yes, an AKC moment it wasn’t.
After apologizing, saying that, one of my “bitches, must be in heat” (they are both fixed) and that he would be right back to pay for the screen door, he and his hound from hell disappeared.
Man, I am a dog lover, but there are people who should not be allowed to have certain breeds, this young man was perhaps qualified to have a Rat Terrier. A Pitt-bull is bread to be a tool, and if used and raised correctly is a great dog for what is meant to do (fuck with Bulls), I don’t see family pet on that list.
So, in one day, I almost get hit in front of a bar, and then later that evening, almost get mauled to death in my living room. Both instances can lead me to believe only one thing, some Witch Doctor has put the roots on me. Rest assured, I went to Mass, and basically took a shower in Holy Water. There but by the grace of God go I, and J.C. got the mojo working for yours truly.
On the Remaining Weekend:
I didn’t go to the Pierogi Fest, much to my sadness and dismay. I couldn’t find anyone to go with me. It was about a two hour drive from my home, and I knew that after the drive and walking around, I wouldn’t be in the best shape to drive home. I couldn’t find one person who saw the joyful adventure in traveling almost to Chicago for Polish food. The fools.
Hell, I couldn’t even find anyone to go with me for my Plan B, which was going to the World War II museum, in Auburn, for some big event they were having there. (I am a guy, we like old Tanks and machine guns). I seemed everyone thought sitting in bars or going skiing at the lakes a much better plan.
So, I stayed in, and read a few books, which considering the events of Friday perhaps was a more wise course of action, it’s a wonder I didn’t hole up in a bunker for the weekend.
Saturday night, in between gigs, my loving wife came home and we went out to a new place I had scouted out for dinner. It’s a little neighborhood bar on the West side of our fair city.
Its claim to fame being that on Saturdays after 4 they serve German food. Now up until recently I was not a huge fan of German food, but that was because, I had not had real German food, made by real Germans, and dear reader this was the case. My bride and I dined on a meal fit for the Kaiser himself.
After that she dropped me off at the manor and went off to yet another gig. I am starting not to like my flowers job. So, much time away, and she pushes herself much too hard, the girl needs some down time. And JQP needs some loving…
All in all, a normal weekend in the life of yours truly.
Today’s Bill:
SONNET 100
Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?
Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem
In gentle numbers time so idly spent;
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem
And gives thy pen both skill and argument.
Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey,
If Time have any wrinkle graven there;
If any, be a satire to decay,
And make Time's spoils despised every where.
Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life;
So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife.
Quote of the Day:
Educate your children to self-control, to the habit of holding passion and prejudice and evil tendencies subject to an upright and reasoning will, and you have done much to abolish misery from their future and crimes from society.
Benjamin Franklin
US author, diplomat, inventor, physicist, politician, & printer (1706 - 1790)
Like a fly buzzing the sugar bowl of your mind, I remain:
JQP esq.
posted by John Q. Public esq. at 3:36 AM
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