In our one life we lead many lives as babies, toddlers, children, teenagers, adults, spouses, parents, in-laws and, if we’re lucky, senior citizens. And in those lives we’re ruled by different people at different stages of our ages.
When my father’s garage was the epicenter of his amusement business in Huntingdon, he was the bully boss of the family, with many mood swings. Living with him was like jumping off and on a playground merry go round as he built his business. You never knew when you were going fall and skin something bloody.
His garage was filled with three or four helpers every weekday morning, preparing to go out on the route like the spokes of a wheel, and empty the various pinball machines and jukeboxes of change along the way. Every day a different town. That garage was a hustle bustle of activity and was his livelihood for 30 years or more, till he retired.
My dad gouged out a living by sheer will power as he went to every restaurant, bar and service station on the route to get his machines placed there; then he split the nickels, dimes and quarters 60/40 with the owners.
And it all started from that humble garage at the end of our backyard. That garage was where I first heard Elvis Presley played on one of his juke boxes. I predicted that Elvis would never make it, thus ending my music prophecy career before it even began.
In the front was a long counter where Dad put things he needed for the day’s travel in the truck. In the back were various pinball machines and juke boxes, both new and needing repair. He also had some sort of gambling machine called a flasher, that at times was legal then illegal, depending on the changing laws. I remember once he frantically pulled all them out and moved them to Virginia for a while. Then he moved them back, when they became legal again.
After a morning’s meeting at the garage’s front counter, everybody scattered for the day to return later around 5 or 6 p.m. His second in command, who my dad was convinced was robbing him blind but could never catch, had a crazy sense of humor and was always fun to bounce around all day in the truck with in the summer, when I worked for my dad, getting the same $10 a week allowance I got for free during my fall, winter and spring school days.
You’d never guess today, looking at the debris and decay in that decrepit garage, that that enlarged shed made and sustained my father’s career, made his modest fortune and made it possible for him to retire to Florida in his 50’s. Without it, he wouldn’t have had a staging area for the daily war of making a living as a self-employed businessman. Come to think of it, that’s quite a garage there!
Published in Common Ground Magazine
Tuesday, July 5
Friday, March 11
LIFE IN SIX WORDS
There’s a book out called “Not What I was Planning’ which has numerous people summing up their lives in six word statements. Joan Rivers quipped “Liars, hysterectomy didn’t improve sex life.” Humorist Ray Blount Jr. wrote “Maybe you had to be there.”
Novelist Joyce Carol Oates wrote “Revenge is living well, without you.” I can smell a bitter divorce here. Kelsey Ochs said “Follwed yellow brick road, disappointment ensued.”
“I wrote it down somewhere.” someone wrote. “Never finished anything, except cake.” “I colored outside the lines” and columnist Craig Wilson wrote “Dad was Santa. Down hill form there.
Maybe you could come up with your own summation, if you think you’re old enough. I got to thinking and here’s one reason, out of many, as to how I’ve finally summed up my life.
When I was stationed in the Air Force in England in 1969 I took some leave to see Europe. In Paris I bought a leather pouch where I put some foreign coins in, like French franks and Italian lira, as souvenirs.
I had them in my barracks for two years till I packed them in my duffle bag to send home upon my discharge. Back in the USA I moved several times taking that pouch with me each time.
I brought the souvenir pouch into my office and put it on my desk for 33 years, looking at the coins once in a while to remind me of my travels. Then one night someone broke into our office thru a window the size of a small suitcase. A SMALL SUITCASE! And robbed us. My own office was ransacked and my Paris pouch was stolen.
Several months later the cops caught the thief, but he didn’t have the pouch full of my foreign coins with him. They were gone forever. Then last week I was watching the news and they mentioned the Euro, the standard currency that replaced all of Europe’s different bills and coins.
So even if I made it back to Europe one more time, I couldn’t replace my old souvenir francs and lira, if I wanted to. Which leads to the 6 word summation of my life which is “Hell, I never saw that coming!”
PART OF A SPEACH GIVEN TO THE PRESBYTERIAN CHRUCH GROUP
Novelist Joyce Carol Oates wrote “Revenge is living well, without you.” I can smell a bitter divorce here. Kelsey Ochs said “Follwed yellow brick road, disappointment ensued.”
“I wrote it down somewhere.” someone wrote. “Never finished anything, except cake.” “I colored outside the lines” and columnist Craig Wilson wrote “Dad was Santa. Down hill form there.
Maybe you could come up with your own summation, if you think you’re old enough. I got to thinking and here’s one reason, out of many, as to how I’ve finally summed up my life.
When I was stationed in the Air Force in England in 1969 I took some leave to see Europe. In Paris I bought a leather pouch where I put some foreign coins in, like French franks and Italian lira, as souvenirs.
I had them in my barracks for two years till I packed them in my duffle bag to send home upon my discharge. Back in the USA I moved several times taking that pouch with me each time.
I brought the souvenir pouch into my office and put it on my desk for 33 years, looking at the coins once in a while to remind me of my travels. Then one night someone broke into our office thru a window the size of a small suitcase. A SMALL SUITCASE! And robbed us. My own office was ransacked and my Paris pouch was stolen.
Several months later the cops caught the thief, but he didn’t have the pouch full of my foreign coins with him. They were gone forever. Then last week I was watching the news and they mentioned the Euro, the standard currency that replaced all of Europe’s different bills and coins.
So even if I made it back to Europe one more time, I couldn’t replace my old souvenir francs and lira, if I wanted to. Which leads to the 6 word summation of my life which is “Hell, I never saw that coming!”
PART OF A SPEACH GIVEN TO THE PRESBYTERIAN CHRUCH GROUP
ATLANTIC CITY HOTEL KITCHEN
There are kitchens and then there are KITCHENS. There’s my mother’s kitchen with the pink Westinghouse stove, the dinner plates from the A&P collection circa 1955 and the kitchen table that my mother still considers new because it’s only 50 years old.
Then there’s the huge Hotel Morton kitchen in the late 60’s Atlantic City where I worked two summer breaks from college. Today it’s probably a penny slot machine parlor at the Trump Taj Mahal, since it was torn down to become a casino.
I was Billy Pancake back then because I worked the breakfast rush in the pantry making row after row of pancakes. Flip them over when the batter bubbles burst for 15 at a time.
For the dinner rush I dipped ice cream and cut pies, cakes and juicy Jersey cantaloupes, while my associate, filthy finger nailed Dorothy, tossed the salads in the sink. Once she scooped up the drain plug plus chain for a customer’s fork to bounce off of when diving into his delicious house salad.
Before entering the kitchen you changed into your white uniform in the locker room, with my boss Bob often modeling his latest underwear for you.
There was old Pop, who looked about 70, moved like he was 90, but had a 30-year-old’s chiseled chest with bulging forearms. He was stooped over, bald with wisps of white, bespectacled and ripped like Arnold in his Mr. Universe days. He was the strangest contradiction I’ve ever seen.
You burst out of the locker room into the bustling greasy floored kitchen to face the big smoking stoves and the cooks on your right, the steaming dishwashers on your left, the sweaty waiters and waitresses zipping in and out of the swinging dining room doors and the rectangular pantry straight ahead.
My favorite job of all time was riding the overflowing smelly garbage can on wheels from the pantry to the trash shoot in the front, where I dropped the garbage down the hole, individually lobbing the bottles to crash in a splattering splash on the concrete floor below.
The kitchen was flush with urgency and hot meals, full of characters I’ll never forget. There’s something about being young, single and aimless that makes the strangest people seem almost normal in the course of your work day.
There was a dishwasher named Jim, who ran me down all the time until I challenged him to meet me in the alley sometime. That was easily the dumbest thing I’d ever done, because with his bodybuilder strength he could have mopped the floor with me and kept my remains as a souvenir in a bucket. But he never showed.
There was Bonnie and Sue, who were runaways that I helped get a room. Sue’s mother had the police chasing Bonnie for taking underage Sue with her. Don’t ask. Don’t tell.
After they left the hotel to work elsewhere, Bonnie wrote her mother saying she was marrying me, because I was the only guy she’d mentioned in her letters home. So on her wedding day the police came to town looking for me. I cut the cantaloupe rather raggedly that day waiting for the police to show, but they never did.
Then there was the lovely laughing waitress Eddie, my summer love that blazed and blistered under the steamy August sun, only to flicker out and freeze over in the ice snowball that was our January reunion. I got my Dear John letter leap year day with a request to mail her class ring back to her.
Since the last page of a love letter is usually the most passionate before a lover bids adieu, I buried Eddie’s ring beneath a pile of her letters’ last pages in a box, so she’d see what she was missing as she dug frantically for her ring to put back on her finger and put her back on the market. However, she hasn’t missed me in over 40 years, so I’m beginning to give up hope.
I had a big old ball in that crappy crowded kitchen. I found friends, love and treachery, while single handedly integrating it, by being the only white person on the actual kitchen staff, at a time when life lay before me like a sumptuous buffet of choices, with free refills on the pop.
PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED IN COMMON GROUND MAGAZINE
Then there’s the huge Hotel Morton kitchen in the late 60’s Atlantic City where I worked two summer breaks from college. Today it’s probably a penny slot machine parlor at the Trump Taj Mahal, since it was torn down to become a casino.
I was Billy Pancake back then because I worked the breakfast rush in the pantry making row after row of pancakes. Flip them over when the batter bubbles burst for 15 at a time.
For the dinner rush I dipped ice cream and cut pies, cakes and juicy Jersey cantaloupes, while my associate, filthy finger nailed Dorothy, tossed the salads in the sink. Once she scooped up the drain plug plus chain for a customer’s fork to bounce off of when diving into his delicious house salad.
Before entering the kitchen you changed into your white uniform in the locker room, with my boss Bob often modeling his latest underwear for you.
There was old Pop, who looked about 70, moved like he was 90, but had a 30-year-old’s chiseled chest with bulging forearms. He was stooped over, bald with wisps of white, bespectacled and ripped like Arnold in his Mr. Universe days. He was the strangest contradiction I’ve ever seen.
You burst out of the locker room into the bustling greasy floored kitchen to face the big smoking stoves and the cooks on your right, the steaming dishwashers on your left, the sweaty waiters and waitresses zipping in and out of the swinging dining room doors and the rectangular pantry straight ahead.
My favorite job of all time was riding the overflowing smelly garbage can on wheels from the pantry to the trash shoot in the front, where I dropped the garbage down the hole, individually lobbing the bottles to crash in a splattering splash on the concrete floor below.
The kitchen was flush with urgency and hot meals, full of characters I’ll never forget. There’s something about being young, single and aimless that makes the strangest people seem almost normal in the course of your work day.
There was a dishwasher named Jim, who ran me down all the time until I challenged him to meet me in the alley sometime. That was easily the dumbest thing I’d ever done, because with his bodybuilder strength he could have mopped the floor with me and kept my remains as a souvenir in a bucket. But he never showed.
There was Bonnie and Sue, who were runaways that I helped get a room. Sue’s mother had the police chasing Bonnie for taking underage Sue with her. Don’t ask. Don’t tell.
After they left the hotel to work elsewhere, Bonnie wrote her mother saying she was marrying me, because I was the only guy she’d mentioned in her letters home. So on her wedding day the police came to town looking for me. I cut the cantaloupe rather raggedly that day waiting for the police to show, but they never did.
Then there was the lovely laughing waitress Eddie, my summer love that blazed and blistered under the steamy August sun, only to flicker out and freeze over in the ice snowball that was our January reunion. I got my Dear John letter leap year day with a request to mail her class ring back to her.
Since the last page of a love letter is usually the most passionate before a lover bids adieu, I buried Eddie’s ring beneath a pile of her letters’ last pages in a box, so she’d see what she was missing as she dug frantically for her ring to put back on her finger and put her back on the market. However, she hasn’t missed me in over 40 years, so I’m beginning to give up hope.
I had a big old ball in that crappy crowded kitchen. I found friends, love and treachery, while single handedly integrating it, by being the only white person on the actual kitchen staff, at a time when life lay before me like a sumptuous buffet of choices, with free refills on the pop.
PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED IN COMMON GROUND MAGAZINE
EXOTIC DOWNTOWNS
“Leaving On a Jet Plane” by Peter, Paul and Mary was the theme song of my early 20s. Back then I was always leaving on a jet plane, leaving behind crying loved ones to land later embraced sometimes by other loved ones. I had a lot more loved ones when I was young, single and almost cute.
Compliments of Uncle Sam I got to see the downtowns of some of the world’s greatest cities. “Downtown” by Petula Clark became my mind’s soundtrack. All of the cities’ downtowns, midtowns and uptowns were like my personal playgrounds to chase girls, see the sights and soak in some culture. Here are a few snapshots of my memories.
I was first stationed outside of Washington D.C. which provided many dating opportunities. There was this beautiful girl, with no discernible sense of humor. We shared a sullen Thanksgiving meal together then she fell asleep afterwards, while I was kissing her. I left quietly that night for good. The only thing we had in common was eating.
There was a bundle of British girls who invited us to a party during the April 1968 riots in D.C. after Martin Luther King Jr. was killed. As I drove thru the riot area to get to the party, there was an explosion behind us and a ball of fire blasted out from a store front that filled up my rear view mirror. I gunned it and a cop car shot out of nowhere, siren blaring and light whirling, speeding to the fiery scene.
D.C. burned that night. We could see it from the party apartment’s balcony, but a party was a party, so we partied; callow shallow youths that we were.
Next I was posted to England 60 miles north of London, only an hour’s train trip away. I took that train often. While walking back alone to my London boarding house at 3 a.m. once, I stumbled upon a rather rowdy ruckus.
Some squatters in an abandoned downtown building were throwing rocks and rubble at a cordon of coppers surrounding them. The Bobbies ebbed and flowed, while ducking the debris. A post pub closing crowd was cheering on the squatters and heckling the police. A grand time was had by all, except the cops.
London has Speakers’ Corner in Hyde Park, where anyone can literally stand on a box and spout their political philosophy or whatever. One starry eyed Chinese communist boy was praising the communist ideal of equality and compassion for the masses, till he broke under a vicious barrage by British hecklers and shouted “When we take over the world I will personally stick bayonets into your stinking bodies!”
The English can be very disrespectful of authority and political platitudes. That’s why you gotta love those crazy bastards so much, those sucky superior limeys.
I took some leave to explore Europe a bit. Paris is the most beautiful city I’ve ever seen with its wide white avenues, magnificent monuments and the sensuous River Seine, where on a boat trip I once saw some buck naked Parisians sunbathing on the river bank in broad daylight. That’s enough to make your Super 8 movie camera jiggle uncontrollably when you zoom in.
The American Bar on Paris’ Left Bank had a unisex bathroom, where you could give a pretty girl the eye, then follow her into the toilet, where she’d enter a stall and let loose after too many American beers. That’ll blow the bloom off the rose fast.
Once in Venice, Italy my roommate and I took a long grim gondola ride where the gondolier regaled us with stories of Americans bombing them during WWII. Strolling past Rome’s ancient ruins I held hands with a Canadian girl, I’d met only an hour before, as she serenaded me and some lecherous Romans with her lilting singing voice from her choir days.
Later in a letter she recounted how she’d been clipped by a car while riding her rented moped down the mountainside of Monte Carlo and ended up in a French hospital. That meant we’d never meet again as we had planned to in Rome.
The song says that “The lights are much brighter there. You can forget all your troubles, forget all your cares, so go Downtown.” Downtowns were full of promise when I was young and in love with love and life was full of young girls’ laughter and kisses.
PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED IN COMMON GROUND MAGAZINE
Compliments of Uncle Sam I got to see the downtowns of some of the world’s greatest cities. “Downtown” by Petula Clark became my mind’s soundtrack. All of the cities’ downtowns, midtowns and uptowns were like my personal playgrounds to chase girls, see the sights and soak in some culture. Here are a few snapshots of my memories.
I was first stationed outside of Washington D.C. which provided many dating opportunities. There was this beautiful girl, with no discernible sense of humor. We shared a sullen Thanksgiving meal together then she fell asleep afterwards, while I was kissing her. I left quietly that night for good. The only thing we had in common was eating.
There was a bundle of British girls who invited us to a party during the April 1968 riots in D.C. after Martin Luther King Jr. was killed. As I drove thru the riot area to get to the party, there was an explosion behind us and a ball of fire blasted out from a store front that filled up my rear view mirror. I gunned it and a cop car shot out of nowhere, siren blaring and light whirling, speeding to the fiery scene.
D.C. burned that night. We could see it from the party apartment’s balcony, but a party was a party, so we partied; callow shallow youths that we were.
Next I was posted to England 60 miles north of London, only an hour’s train trip away. I took that train often. While walking back alone to my London boarding house at 3 a.m. once, I stumbled upon a rather rowdy ruckus.
Some squatters in an abandoned downtown building were throwing rocks and rubble at a cordon of coppers surrounding them. The Bobbies ebbed and flowed, while ducking the debris. A post pub closing crowd was cheering on the squatters and heckling the police. A grand time was had by all, except the cops.
London has Speakers’ Corner in Hyde Park, where anyone can literally stand on a box and spout their political philosophy or whatever. One starry eyed Chinese communist boy was praising the communist ideal of equality and compassion for the masses, till he broke under a vicious barrage by British hecklers and shouted “When we take over the world I will personally stick bayonets into your stinking bodies!”
The English can be very disrespectful of authority and political platitudes. That’s why you gotta love those crazy bastards so much, those sucky superior limeys.
I took some leave to explore Europe a bit. Paris is the most beautiful city I’ve ever seen with its wide white avenues, magnificent monuments and the sensuous River Seine, where on a boat trip I once saw some buck naked Parisians sunbathing on the river bank in broad daylight. That’s enough to make your Super 8 movie camera jiggle uncontrollably when you zoom in.
The American Bar on Paris’ Left Bank had a unisex bathroom, where you could give a pretty girl the eye, then follow her into the toilet, where she’d enter a stall and let loose after too many American beers. That’ll blow the bloom off the rose fast.
Once in Venice, Italy my roommate and I took a long grim gondola ride where the gondolier regaled us with stories of Americans bombing them during WWII. Strolling past Rome’s ancient ruins I held hands with a Canadian girl, I’d met only an hour before, as she serenaded me and some lecherous Romans with her lilting singing voice from her choir days.
Later in a letter she recounted how she’d been clipped by a car while riding her rented moped down the mountainside of Monte Carlo and ended up in a French hospital. That meant we’d never meet again as we had planned to in Rome.
The song says that “The lights are much brighter there. You can forget all your troubles, forget all your cares, so go Downtown.” Downtowns were full of promise when I was young and in love with love and life was full of young girls’ laughter and kisses.
PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED IN COMMON GROUND MAGAZINE
A SMALL WORLD INDEED
One of my best friends at Juniata College in the1960’s was Mick Kalacia ’67 from New Jersey. He and I were history majors and had a lot of classes together. Mick was stoic, studious and strictly loyal to his girlfriend back home. I tried to change all that.
I felt Mick should loosen up a lot. He was as serious as paralysis. In fact, one of our classmates woke up one morning in the men’s dorm, raised his arms to stretch and somehow paralyzed himself. He left school immediately and never returned. To this day I never stretch awake.
Horror stories like that made me feel that life was way too serious to take seriously, so I doggedly tried to get Mick to study less and have more fun.
The thing I concentrated on the most was to try to make Mick doggie paddle in the deep pool of cute coeds on campus. I just couldn’t believe his devotion to one girl at a time in his life when he had a duty and an opportunity to date as many girls as possible.
He was young, good looking and I felt he should take a bite out of the girlish apples of their fathers’ eyes to see who was the sweetest on campus. Why stick stubbornly to a Granny Smith, when you could sample Fujis, Galas, Mcintoshes, Winesaps, yellow/red Delicious and Cortlands? OK, I love apples.
So many girls, so little time. If you’re not with the one you love, love the one you’re with. Those were the twin tenants I followed in those delirious days. I’d even broken up with my high school sweetheart my freshman year after being overwhelmed by the fullness of the coed student body prancing around campus giggling.
I tried to get Mick to go to the weekend dances and to, at least, talk to the girls who asked me about him. But he was like a boulder and wouldn’t budge. He was on the choke chain of love stretched tight to Jersey.
Our senior year some of us took the Air Force officer’s test because the Vietnam war was raging and our future after graduation was one of four things- the Army, the Navy, the Air Force or the Marines.
The Air Force wanted pilots, so the officer’s test was four long hours of mystery, fantasy, wild guessing and complete confusion for me because I’d never flown before, let alone as a fighter pilot. The only one I knew who passed was Mick. He was that smart.
Mick and I went our separate ways after graduation. I went into the Air Force and after two years stateside, I got orders for RAF Woodbridge in England. Almost everyone else in my barracks got sent to Vietnam.
In 1969 on my second weekend in England, I took the base bus north to RAF Lakenheath for an intramural football game. I really just wanted to cheaply see the countryside.
Once there, I stopped at the snack bar for a bite and amazingly spotted Mick sitting alone at a nearby table in the empty room. I couldn’t believe it! We caught up with our lives. Mick had married his sweetheart Sue after all and was one of only a handful of Navy personnel on this big Air Force base. We parted promising to keep in touch, but never did. I’m afraid after the history classes ended, we were history.
So if I hadn’t been stationed at a British air base at the height of the Vietnam War, boarded a bus for a football game I had no interest in and stepped into the base snack bar at precisely the same time Mick was eating there, I’d have never had this one person class reunion. ‘Tis a small world indeed, Sparky.
PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED IN COMMON GROUND MAGAZINE
I felt Mick should loosen up a lot. He was as serious as paralysis. In fact, one of our classmates woke up one morning in the men’s dorm, raised his arms to stretch and somehow paralyzed himself. He left school immediately and never returned. To this day I never stretch awake.
Horror stories like that made me feel that life was way too serious to take seriously, so I doggedly tried to get Mick to study less and have more fun.
The thing I concentrated on the most was to try to make Mick doggie paddle in the deep pool of cute coeds on campus. I just couldn’t believe his devotion to one girl at a time in his life when he had a duty and an opportunity to date as many girls as possible.
He was young, good looking and I felt he should take a bite out of the girlish apples of their fathers’ eyes to see who was the sweetest on campus. Why stick stubbornly to a Granny Smith, when you could sample Fujis, Galas, Mcintoshes, Winesaps, yellow/red Delicious and Cortlands? OK, I love apples.
So many girls, so little time. If you’re not with the one you love, love the one you’re with. Those were the twin tenants I followed in those delirious days. I’d even broken up with my high school sweetheart my freshman year after being overwhelmed by the fullness of the coed student body prancing around campus giggling.
I tried to get Mick to go to the weekend dances and to, at least, talk to the girls who asked me about him. But he was like a boulder and wouldn’t budge. He was on the choke chain of love stretched tight to Jersey.
Our senior year some of us took the Air Force officer’s test because the Vietnam war was raging and our future after graduation was one of four things- the Army, the Navy, the Air Force or the Marines.
The Air Force wanted pilots, so the officer’s test was four long hours of mystery, fantasy, wild guessing and complete confusion for me because I’d never flown before, let alone as a fighter pilot. The only one I knew who passed was Mick. He was that smart.
Mick and I went our separate ways after graduation. I went into the Air Force and after two years stateside, I got orders for RAF Woodbridge in England. Almost everyone else in my barracks got sent to Vietnam.
In 1969 on my second weekend in England, I took the base bus north to RAF Lakenheath for an intramural football game. I really just wanted to cheaply see the countryside.
Once there, I stopped at the snack bar for a bite and amazingly spotted Mick sitting alone at a nearby table in the empty room. I couldn’t believe it! We caught up with our lives. Mick had married his sweetheart Sue after all and was one of only a handful of Navy personnel on this big Air Force base. We parted promising to keep in touch, but never did. I’m afraid after the history classes ended, we were history.
So if I hadn’t been stationed at a British air base at the height of the Vietnam War, boarded a bus for a football game I had no interest in and stepped into the base snack bar at precisely the same time Mick was eating there, I’d have never had this one person class reunion. ‘Tis a small world indeed, Sparky.
PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED IN COMMON GROUND MAGAZINE
Monday, December 6
FACEBOOKING 4 THOUGHTS OF THE DAY
Bill Roddey: We're all born with a death sentence. Merry Christmas everyone!
There was a flash mob in our little town square last night. Two drunks showed up to fight and swear at each other to "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" playing on a car radio that passed by briefly.
You can lead a horse to water or just bring him a cup of water. Save yourself some time and tugging.
I lost two facebook friends recently. I'm not sure why. Probably the usual reasons- neglect and sexual asphyxiation.
I finally found my place in the universe. I'm an expanding gas belch in the youngest supernova in the Milky Way which blew about 140 years ago. Thanks Hubble telescope.
I can't control the big things in life like terrorist attacks, hurricanes hitting my house and why people never show me the love, so I concentrate on the petty things like wrinkles in my ascot and demanding ribs in my McRib sandwich.
The sun stares down on me like a scorned lover.
Have you ever held a flutter by butterfly in your hands and, mistaking it for a Butterfinger, ate it? Have you ever watched the half moons on your fingernails setting and shrinking and thought you were dying, only to discover you were drunk? Have you ever wept when Jeffrey, the robot, gets crestfallen in the cafeter...ia in the Intel Processor (Bum...Bum Bum Bum Bum) commercial? No, me neither.
Don't you hate conversations where you say "Hi.", then 30 minutes later you say "Bye." and those were the only two actual words you uttered?
Did you know that you're not the King of Anything? says the Queen of Everything.
World leaders come and go, Presidents only last 8 years, religious founders pop up then poop out, but real immortality like that of John Lea and William Perrins last forever. Because those two British chemists invented Lea and Perrins' Worcestershire sauce in 1837 and I soaked my sirloin in it last night. And I haven't even mentioned Ed McIlhenny's Tabasco sauce that's been keeping us hot and spicy since 1868.
You can never out kneel a nun. Don't even try.
She's a porn star, not a a hooker. For God's sake people, get that straight already. So that makes Charlie Sheen her co-star, not just another john. There could be an Academy Award in here cum the Oscars.
Charlie Sheen had a bad reaction to drugs- Viagra and Spanish fly. That's all.
At a Bruce Springsteen concert, all his songs start the same...ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR!
The sun will shine tomorrow. The radio alarm will go off at 6 a.m. People will laugh at work. We'll eat lunch. We'll watch TV. We'll pet our dog and cats. Even though it's Jack Roddey's birthday, he won't turn 16 tomorrow. And that'll make it the saddest day of the year.
The seagulls soar over the Atlantic City boardwalk mocking our fevered casino dreams of instant wealth and dive for the odd half eaten junk food castaway.
Life is but a dream...with pee breaks.
The night curles around me like a lover with cold feet and long piercing toe nails.
Death- when the warranty on your birth certificate expires.
The fine print on my birth certificate said "Not valid in the hereafter or at tupperware parties. So if that's what you're here after, find someone else."
In my long life I've known many great dogs, but only a few great people.
I dreamed I was dreaming and never woke up again.
Strawberry Fields was a Salvation Army orphanage in Liverpool, England and that's where the Beatles got the name for their song "Strawberry Fields Forever". Also the Eleanor Rugby football team in Liverpool was the inspiration for the Beatles' hit song "Eleanor Rigby".
That last factoid was a lie, in lieu of a joke.
Andy Dick must have deleted me from his Facebook friends. Should I be mad, sad or relieved? How 'bout jubilant?
They're remaking Bonnie Tyler's 1985 hit song "I Need a Hero" with a Philadelphia spin and renaming it "I Need a Hoagy".
Have you ever kissed a dog and made it cry? Have you ever talked to yourself and been snubbed? Have you ever taken a pulse, forgotten to give it back and killed that person? Have you ever been at your wit's end and channeled Oscar Wilde? Pink wants to know.
I think my cat is judging me, especially when I'm naked. OK, OK already, I won't have that second doughnut. HAPPY!?? At least, my dog accepts me for what I am.
The British owner of Segway segues into death on his Segway.
Love makes the world go round. It's something to do with top spin.
Life is a snapshot, then it fades out of focus.
Have you ever jumped to conclusions and suffered a concussion from hitting your head on a tissue of lies? Have you ever made a promise you'd never keep for sex or a beer? Have you ever lied in your prayers for money? Pink wants to know.
Future taste sensation- chocolate barbequed bacon! With a hint of cinnamon pecan. Come on America, you can do it.
Texting during sex is tacky, honey.
We toil in obscurity and make a very little impression on people, us bed bugs do.
Sometimes arguing with a woman is like trying to hold back erosion with your thumbs. You're just digging a hole for yourself like the Grand Canyon, which was caused by erosion.
I'm beside myself. So now I can't fit into my La-Z-Boy. Damn!
Conversation just after pulling into a spot in the Taj Mahal casino parking lot in Atlantic City. "Hey, are you coming or going?" "Coming, I haven't lost any money yet." "Are we close?" "I don't know, we just met." "No, I meant the roof of my SUV clearing the roof of this garage. Are we close?
What the world needs now is a time release martini.
Have you ever petted a tarantula to death? Have you ever seen a beautiful sunrise that made you vomit? Have you ever had to go to a Mob loanshark from the Mafia Wars to buy fertilizer for FarmVille? Have you ever lost your virginity to a turtle...twice? Have you ever saved someone from drowning, then thrown him back... because you didn't like him all that much? Have you ever burped up toe jam? ...Yeah, me too.
There was a flash mob in our little town square last night. Two drunks showed up to fight and swear at each other to "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" playing on a car radio that passed by briefly.
You can lead a horse to water or just bring him a cup of water. Save yourself some time and tugging.
I lost two facebook friends recently. I'm not sure why. Probably the usual reasons- neglect and sexual asphyxiation.
I finally found my place in the universe. I'm an expanding gas belch in the youngest supernova in the Milky Way which blew about 140 years ago. Thanks Hubble telescope.
I can't control the big things in life like terrorist attacks, hurricanes hitting my house and why people never show me the love, so I concentrate on the petty things like wrinkles in my ascot and demanding ribs in my McRib sandwich.
The sun stares down on me like a scorned lover.
Have you ever held a flutter by butterfly in your hands and, mistaking it for a Butterfinger, ate it? Have you ever watched the half moons on your fingernails setting and shrinking and thought you were dying, only to discover you were drunk? Have you ever wept when Jeffrey, the robot, gets crestfallen in the cafeter...ia in the Intel Processor (Bum...Bum Bum Bum Bum) commercial? No, me neither.
Don't you hate conversations where you say "Hi.", then 30 minutes later you say "Bye." and those were the only two actual words you uttered?
Did you know that you're not the King of Anything? says the Queen of Everything.
World leaders come and go, Presidents only last 8 years, religious founders pop up then poop out, but real immortality like that of John Lea and William Perrins last forever. Because those two British chemists invented Lea and Perrins' Worcestershire sauce in 1837 and I soaked my sirloin in it last night. And I haven't even mentioned Ed McIlhenny's Tabasco sauce that's been keeping us hot and spicy since 1868.
You can never out kneel a nun. Don't even try.
She's a porn star, not a a hooker. For God's sake people, get that straight already. So that makes Charlie Sheen her co-star, not just another john. There could be an Academy Award in here cum the Oscars.
Charlie Sheen had a bad reaction to drugs- Viagra and Spanish fly. That's all.
At a Bruce Springsteen concert, all his songs start the same...ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR!
The sun will shine tomorrow. The radio alarm will go off at 6 a.m. People will laugh at work. We'll eat lunch. We'll watch TV. We'll pet our dog and cats. Even though it's Jack Roddey's birthday, he won't turn 16 tomorrow. And that'll make it the saddest day of the year.
The seagulls soar over the Atlantic City boardwalk mocking our fevered casino dreams of instant wealth and dive for the odd half eaten junk food castaway.
Life is but a dream...with pee breaks.
The night curles around me like a lover with cold feet and long piercing toe nails.
Death- when the warranty on your birth certificate expires.
The fine print on my birth certificate said "Not valid in the hereafter or at tupperware parties. So if that's what you're here after, find someone else."
In my long life I've known many great dogs, but only a few great people.
I dreamed I was dreaming and never woke up again.
Strawberry Fields was a Salvation Army orphanage in Liverpool, England and that's where the Beatles got the name for their song "Strawberry Fields Forever". Also the Eleanor Rugby football team in Liverpool was the inspiration for the Beatles' hit song "Eleanor Rigby".
That last factoid was a lie, in lieu of a joke.
Andy Dick must have deleted me from his Facebook friends. Should I be mad, sad or relieved? How 'bout jubilant?
They're remaking Bonnie Tyler's 1985 hit song "I Need a Hero" with a Philadelphia spin and renaming it "I Need a Hoagy".
Have you ever kissed a dog and made it cry? Have you ever talked to yourself and been snubbed? Have you ever taken a pulse, forgotten to give it back and killed that person? Have you ever been at your wit's end and channeled Oscar Wilde? Pink wants to know.
I think my cat is judging me, especially when I'm naked. OK, OK already, I won't have that second doughnut. HAPPY!?? At least, my dog accepts me for what I am.
The British owner of Segway segues into death on his Segway.
Love makes the world go round. It's something to do with top spin.
Life is a snapshot, then it fades out of focus.
Have you ever jumped to conclusions and suffered a concussion from hitting your head on a tissue of lies? Have you ever made a promise you'd never keep for sex or a beer? Have you ever lied in your prayers for money? Pink wants to know.
Future taste sensation- chocolate barbequed bacon! With a hint of cinnamon pecan. Come on America, you can do it.
Texting during sex is tacky, honey.
We toil in obscurity and make a very little impression on people, us bed bugs do.
Sometimes arguing with a woman is like trying to hold back erosion with your thumbs. You're just digging a hole for yourself like the Grand Canyon, which was caused by erosion.
I'm beside myself. So now I can't fit into my La-Z-Boy. Damn!
Conversation just after pulling into a spot in the Taj Mahal casino parking lot in Atlantic City. "Hey, are you coming or going?" "Coming, I haven't lost any money yet." "Are we close?" "I don't know, we just met." "No, I meant the roof of my SUV clearing the roof of this garage. Are we close?
What the world needs now is a time release martini.
Have you ever petted a tarantula to death? Have you ever seen a beautiful sunrise that made you vomit? Have you ever had to go to a Mob loanshark from the Mafia Wars to buy fertilizer for FarmVille? Have you ever lost your virginity to a turtle...twice? Have you ever saved someone from drowning, then thrown him back... because you didn't like him all that much? Have you ever burped up toe jam? ...Yeah, me too.
Saturday, September 4
FACEBOOKING THREE THOUGHTS OF THE DAY
BILL RODDEY As your dog circles endlessly for the perfect poop plop place, is it assessing asphalt acceptability, sniffing out soil substance, weeding , looking for an even pooping field or other dogs' excretory decisions, listening to hear God tell it where to go like a canine Glen Beck, practicing Feng shui or is it all just the... random fickleness of life, as in "Shit happens."?
What the world needs now is a time release martini.
Have you ever petted a tarantula to death? Have you ever seen a beautiful sunrise that made you vomit? Have you ever had to go to a Mob loanshark from the Mafia Wars to buy fertilizer for FarmVille? Have you ever lost your virginity to a turtle...twice? Have you ever saved someone from drowning, then thrown him back... because you didn't like him all that much? Have you ever burped up toe jam? ...Yeah, me too.
All roads may lead to Rome, but all vapor trails lead to Paris...Hilton, that is.
Who is your father? Who is your father?" worst dialogue of a sex scene ever.
It's tough being type cast as the bald, fat, incredibly handsome, but humble, old man.
Does the entire internet know? I keep getting SPAM e-mail titled "Stop feeling like a loser." Who told?
I’m a semi- vegetarian. I only eat animals that eat vegetables.
In 1983 there was a hot singing group called Katrina and the Waves. Were they the precursor to Hurricane Katrina and the waves that crashed over New Orleans 5 years ago? A coincidence? I think not. Nostradamas predicted this in the day as he was Walking on Sunshine.
Women live by consensus, as in "What do YOU think I should do?", whereas men decide like a dictator. Screw it, I'm gonna do it.
BOOM! There goes another baby boomer meeting his maker.
Sue Dunmire hope it wasn't me.
Bill Roddey If you're not all over the place, then it wasn't you. BOOM! Check yourself again. We are a pretty explosive generation, Sue. Always have been. BOOM! Wow , that one was just down the road. Gotta go see who it was.
She's got more baggage than the cargo holds of a fleet of 747s.
If you've HAD IT, don't give it to me, 'cause I had it years ago, and I need my job.
What do I do? One of my imaginary friends owes me $203.47, but he just lost his NASA job and has a baby on the way from his imaginary wife who's messin' around with an imaginary Charles Manson. He's hurtin', but I could sure use the money
The day after I'm gone, it'll be like I was never here. Such is the power of the present.
What's beside the point of no return? You can get to the point with a knife and a stick. AND
What's the point of life? It's sharp conclusion?
I just discovered that I have a split personality and that I have nothing in common with myself. This could really screw up my sex life.
I need an electrician to rewire the electrolytes in my Gatoraid. It's flat.
"Get hammered and nail a carpenter." The Carpenters' Ass. of America.
After 40 years of pondering this puzzle, I've come to believe that Bugs Bunny has serious health concerns, because he's always asking "What's up, doc?". This indicates multiple medical consultations about the state of his well being. Ah, wait, wait. .. Either that or he just calls everybody Doc and is incurably inquisitive and a wise ass.
It was so hot and dry today that our neighbors hired five fat guys to stand in the sun and sweat in buckets to be used later to water their garden. Unfortunately, I was unavailable.
The best work week is the week you're on vacation. The worst work week is the week you return from vacation.
Buffaloes have chicken wings, spaghetti has meat balls and I have a headache. Good night.
" I believe in hugs, as long as they lead to sex. Otherwise, screw 'em." The most interesting man in the world. "Stay thirsty, my friends."
It hit 103 today in the Baked Apple today!
Heat Wave- It's gonna be as sultry as an overworked Hooter waitress‘ panty shield. .
I never understood the subtle difference between the undead and the living dead, which, of course, is a contradiction in terms. Then there's the Greatful Dead who are thankful zombies with a rock and roll band. I don't know though how appreciative Jerry Garcia was about dying. Then there's the Dead Heads who, by definition, are dead from the neck up. This ends today's silly seminar.
It must be the Fourth Of July, 'cause tents selling fireworks are popping up like mushrooms after a heavy rain
WARNING: You feed him, ladies and he'll follow you home. That's pretty much any guy.
My life contains strong language, nudity, sexual situations, graphic violence and death. Viewer discretion is advised.
NEED YOU NOW- " It's a quarter after one and I'm a little loaded, and if goaded, I need you now. Uh oh. Fuckit, need a bucket first! Ummm Ummm Waaaaaaahhhhhhh!"
I found a photo of myself, as a baby, holding a photo of myself, holding a photo of myself, holding a photo of myself, holding a photo of myself, holding a photo of myself, holding a photo of myself, holding a photo of myself, holding a photo of myself. And in each photo I got older. And I thought "OMG, I'm Benjamin Button!!!"
It's so damn hot today, my id stuck to my superego.
Patience just takes too much damn time.
Midnight madness at 11:45. It's all just one long goodbye. Then you die.
What the world needs now is a time release martini.
Have you ever petted a tarantula to death? Have you ever seen a beautiful sunrise that made you vomit? Have you ever had to go to a Mob loanshark from the Mafia Wars to buy fertilizer for FarmVille? Have you ever lost your virginity to a turtle...twice? Have you ever saved someone from drowning, then thrown him back... because you didn't like him all that much? Have you ever burped up toe jam? ...Yeah, me too.
All roads may lead to Rome, but all vapor trails lead to Paris...Hilton, that is.
Who is your father? Who is your father?" worst dialogue of a sex scene ever.
It's tough being type cast as the bald, fat, incredibly handsome, but humble, old man.
Does the entire internet know? I keep getting SPAM e-mail titled "Stop feeling like a loser." Who told?
I’m a semi- vegetarian. I only eat animals that eat vegetables.
In 1983 there was a hot singing group called Katrina and the Waves. Were they the precursor to Hurricane Katrina and the waves that crashed over New Orleans 5 years ago? A coincidence? I think not. Nostradamas predicted this in the day as he was Walking on Sunshine.
Women live by consensus, as in "What do YOU think I should do?", whereas men decide like a dictator. Screw it, I'm gonna do it.
BOOM! There goes another baby boomer meeting his maker.
Sue Dunmire hope it wasn't me.
Bill Roddey If you're not all over the place, then it wasn't you. BOOM! Check yourself again. We are a pretty explosive generation, Sue. Always have been. BOOM! Wow , that one was just down the road. Gotta go see who it was.
She's got more baggage than the cargo holds of a fleet of 747s.
If you've HAD IT, don't give it to me, 'cause I had it years ago, and I need my job.
What do I do? One of my imaginary friends owes me $203.47, but he just lost his NASA job and has a baby on the way from his imaginary wife who's messin' around with an imaginary Charles Manson. He's hurtin', but I could sure use the money
The day after I'm gone, it'll be like I was never here. Such is the power of the present.
What's beside the point of no return? You can get to the point with a knife and a stick. AND
What's the point of life? It's sharp conclusion?
I just discovered that I have a split personality and that I have nothing in common with myself. This could really screw up my sex life.
I need an electrician to rewire the electrolytes in my Gatoraid. It's flat.
"Get hammered and nail a carpenter." The Carpenters' Ass. of America.
After 40 years of pondering this puzzle, I've come to believe that Bugs Bunny has serious health concerns, because he's always asking "What's up, doc?". This indicates multiple medical consultations about the state of his well being. Ah, wait, wait. .. Either that or he just calls everybody Doc and is incurably inquisitive and a wise ass.
It was so hot and dry today that our neighbors hired five fat guys to stand in the sun and sweat in buckets to be used later to water their garden. Unfortunately, I was unavailable.
The best work week is the week you're on vacation. The worst work week is the week you return from vacation.
Buffaloes have chicken wings, spaghetti has meat balls and I have a headache. Good night.
" I believe in hugs, as long as they lead to sex. Otherwise, screw 'em." The most interesting man in the world. "Stay thirsty, my friends."
It hit 103 today in the Baked Apple today!
Heat Wave- It's gonna be as sultry as an overworked Hooter waitress‘ panty shield. .
I never understood the subtle difference between the undead and the living dead, which, of course, is a contradiction in terms. Then there's the Greatful Dead who are thankful zombies with a rock and roll band. I don't know though how appreciative Jerry Garcia was about dying. Then there's the Dead Heads who, by definition, are dead from the neck up. This ends today's silly seminar.
It must be the Fourth Of July, 'cause tents selling fireworks are popping up like mushrooms after a heavy rain
WARNING: You feed him, ladies and he'll follow you home. That's pretty much any guy.
My life contains strong language, nudity, sexual situations, graphic violence and death. Viewer discretion is advised.
NEED YOU NOW- " It's a quarter after one and I'm a little loaded, and if goaded, I need you now. Uh oh. Fuckit, need a bucket first! Ummm Ummm Waaaaaaahhhhhhh!"
I found a photo of myself, as a baby, holding a photo of myself, holding a photo of myself, holding a photo of myself, holding a photo of myself, holding a photo of myself, holding a photo of myself, holding a photo of myself, holding a photo of myself. And in each photo I got older. And I thought "OMG, I'm Benjamin Button!!!"
It's so damn hot today, my id stuck to my superego.
Patience just takes too much damn time.
Midnight madness at 11:45. It's all just one long goodbye. Then you die.
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