A date really gone bad #2

A date gone really bad.

My second “bad date” occurred when I was 19.  The girl was 18 and I had dated her for about a year.  One night I went to her house to pick her up for a date.  Just before we left, the phone rang.  She gabbed away for a few minutes, laughing and so forth.  I thought it was one of her girl friends just shooting the breeze.

After we got in the car she was strangely quiet.  After a few minutes, she said,”let me off at the corner of so-and-so.  I naturally asked why.  She said the phone call was from a guy that she had met at a CYO dance the night before.  He had asked her out on a date over the phone     WHILE I WAS STANDING THERE.       And she accepted!!!!

Her excuse was, “he reminded me so much of you”.  Needless to say, I dropped her off at the corner she requested.  Never saw her again.

This is a true story.  Dal

A date gone bad. #1

I have titled this # 1 because it was the first of “several” bad dates that I endured during my early years.  It all started because I was trying to be a gentleman.  Honest.  It was a dark and stormy night.  I was a senior in high school and there were two freshman girls stranded at school after a pep meeting.  I volunteered to take them home.  Honest. 

For sake of clarity I shall identify them as girl “A” and girl “B”.  I dropped off girl “A” first.  As a true gentleman I waited till her father opened the door and let her in the house.  Her father was a teacher at the high school but I had never had him as a teacher.  Anything that he had heard about me was pure hearsay.  Honest.  As he let her in the house, I saw him shade his eyes and look at me.  I was driving a Packard automobile that looked like a gangster car.  I am sure that his mind raced with wild “untrue” thoughts.

  I proceeded to take girl “B” home.  As I pulled into her driveway, her father came running out of the house.  He opened her door, grabbed her by the arm and said, “You get into the house young lady”.  He then looked at me and said, “you, you son-of-a-***** get out of here.  As I have said before, I am not the sharpest nail in the keg but I understood what he meant.

It took a minute or so to let it sink in just what had happened.  Girl “A’s” father had called girl “B’s” father and told him that his daughter was in a car with a known sex offender, or something else. The poor girl was embarrassed to death and apologized profusely to me the next day.  I just laughed it off like it happened all the time.  Honest.

Believe it or not, this is a true story.  Dal

Casterating Pigs

Now I know that all of you out there have just been dying to know all about the above listed subject.  What it concerns is removing the male pig’s social standing in the sty!!

  In order to get you familiar with “pig terms” I shall endeavor to instruct you in the proper pig descriptions.  A young pig shortly after weaning is referred to as a “shoat”.  The unbred female is referred to as a “gilt”.  The male shoat is referred to as a “boar”.  This nomenclature is soon to be changed unless the male pig is to be kept for breeding purposes.  If so, he remains a boar.

  The un-lucky group of male pigs that remains is about to have its social standing altered.  This will cause the soon to be altered male great distress as he will become a “barrow”. 

 

The operation starts with three (3) men entering the sty.  The first is referred to as the “hooker”.  It is his responsibility to catch the male pigs and transport them to the “holder”.  The “holder” bends down in a squat, much like a baseball catcher and cradles the unlucky pig up-side-down by all four feet, exposing the pig’s private parts.  The pig greatly resents this intrusion on his happy life in the sty and responds by sounding off with a series of loud “wheeees”.  No matter, his fate is sealed.  Enter the “hatchet” man”.  The “hatchet man” actually uses a single edged razor blade to perform his craft.  He grasps the scrotum of the pig and pinches one side.  This forces the testicle to push against the outer skin of the scrotum, or as we hayseed farmers call it, (“the tobacco sack”) the “hatchet man” then slits the scrotum and forces the testicle to pop out of the scrotum.  The “hatchet man” then pulls the testicle up and cuts it off with the razor and tosses it aside.  The same procedure is then performed on the other testicle.  The pig is strangely silent except for an occasional grunt during this “operation”

  After the procedure is complete the pig is swabbed with a mixture of turpentine and lard.  This is to ward off infection?

  After being released, the pig does not move away as fast as you would expect.  He stands there with a dazed look on his face, unable to comprehend what has just happened to him.  Needless to say the next day he moves around a bit stiff legged with a bewildered air about him.  He knows something drastic has happened but not what it was.  Poor pig.

  There, I have told you more than you ever wanted to know about “pig operations”

Dal

Can you outsmart a red squirrel ?

This past week Connie complained that a red squirrel was eating all the sunflower seed from our bird feeder.  She wanted me to solve the problem and save some bird seed.  Naturally, I jumped at the challenge of the task.  I designed a feeder holding device made from two pieces of strap iron and separated by 2” blocks at 18” intervals. When I put it in place I found that the vertical strength was fine but the slightest breeze made the yaw uncontrollable.  Back to the drawing board.  Score:   squirrel 1, Dal  0

  I went back in my woods to check out the parts department. (Connie calls it a junk pile).  I found a piece of old electrical conduit 1” in diameter and 10’ long.  This inspired a new idea that just had to work!!  I fastened the conduit on an oak tree with 8’ extending in the air on a 45 degree angle.  I installed an off center “rat guard”  50” from the centerline of the tree .  The rat guard was square with an oversized hole that caused it to spin when an uneven weight was applied to any corner.  I held it in position by placing a ty-wrap on the down side.  This left just less than 4’ from the guard to the end of the pole.  On the end of the pole if fastened a 40’ length of #11 wire connected to the bird feeder.

  The speed at which the squirrel could run was checked  by bellowing at him while he was under the feeder to see how long it took him to reach a tree 39 feet away.  I clocked him with my stopwatch at just less than 3 seconds or 13 fps.  My guess was that the force of gravity would drag him down before he could leap the distance from the rat guard to the feeder.  Wrong again.  The squirrels must have a ballistic leap.  Score squirrels 2,  Dal 0

  Then I came up with a plan that couldn’t fail.  I shot um both with my 12 gauge shotgun.  Score Dal  2, Squirrels 2.  I figure that I won by a TKO because the squirrels were not able to come out for round 3.

The old Indian

THE OLD INDIAN

Years ago I heard the story of an old  Indian elder.  He was well respected by his fellow tribe members because of his old age, experiences, and wisdom.  He and his wife lived in quiet dignity with other members of the tribe.  They had all they needed and shared with others the good times and the bad times.

Then the old elder died.   His wife did not enjoy the same status in the tribe as did her husband.  Her possessions were few; among them small clay bowl.  Since the tribe no longer needed her, she was cast out into a blizzard and soon died of exposure.  Her clay bowl was shattered and left with the dying woman.

  Today we have a government that is taking a few paragraphs from the old Indian story but adding a new twist.  They do not wait for the respected elder to die.  Rather, the elder is judged on his worth to the tribe and the calculated years of productivity left in his declining years.  When some hired gun from the government decides the scale has swung in a direction that is no longer in the governments favor, the Elder is cast out in the blizzard to die.  His wife is not thrown out with him, but the government confiscates her clay bowl and “redistributes” it to some other Indian that needs it more.  She has nothing to look forward to except her time to be cast out into the blizzard.

Dal Wolf.

How much is a trillion dollars

  

We keep hearing the term "TRILLION" being tossed about when speaking of the Federal budget.  Just how much is a TRILLION dollars?  Lets put some different amounts of money in perspective by measuring them in $100 bills using common measuring sticks that everyone can relate to.

 Just to make sure my calculations were correct I dug up a barrel of greenbacks that I had buried in the back yard.  A $100 bill is printed on very high quality paper and is

.005 inches thick.   A million dollars is a stack of $100 bills only 50 inches high.  I counted them and there are 10,000 of them in a million dollars.  The volume of $1 million was 2.154 cubic feet.  REMEMBER ,The stack of bills is only 50 inches high.

Therefore: 

A million dollars in $100 bills could easily fit in a small  (12" X 15") medicine cabinet.

A billion dollars in $100 dollar bills is 1000 times greater than a million and  would fill a very small room  ( 7.8 ft. X 7.8 ft )  with a 7 1/2 foot ceiling.  That stack of bills is

.79 miles high

A trillion dollars in $100 dollar bills is 1000 times greater than a billion dollars and would fill 53 double wide ( 24 x 48 feet) homes. That stack of bills would be an unimaginable

789 miles high.

You math majors check out my numbers.  I hope I am wrong.

PS:    Yes, I reburied the barrel of greenbacks.

Dal Wolf.  

Global warming

Global Warming and other things that worry me.

There is one aspect of the global warming crises that really worries me.  No, it is not the fact that Algore will become a zillionaire because of the cap and trade that is supposed to solve the problem by taxing your tail off.  The real crisis is the methane caused by cows that pass methane gas.

The only way to allow Algore and G.E. to make money off the cow methane is to tax the cow.  I do not personally know any cow that presently pays any taxes, do you?  If you cannot tax the cow, then you must tax the owner of the cow, much the same as the government taxes your car.  The problem now arises as to how much the cow, or the cow owner should pay.

Should the tax be determined by the size of the cow, its age, or by its accessories?  Does a cow with two horns pay more than a cow with no horns?  Would black cows be exempt from the tax?  How about “green cows”?  Will they get a tax break?

  The only fair way to determine what amount the cow will pay would be to install a meter on each cow to measure the frequency of methane discharge as well as the amount of methane expelled.  G.E. could manufacture the required meters at the same time they are creating the “smart grid”

  I have a personal fear of the methane tax.  I have a tendency to eat fast and therefore swallow a lot of air.  You engineers are aware, according to Newton, that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.  I expel the swallowed air much in the same way a cow expels the methane.  Will I be required to wear a “methane meter” much the same as the unfortunate cow?  Will I be taxed by the cubic feet of gas expelled or will there be a “flat flatus tax” assessed?

  This causes me to really be fearful because wearing a meter would embarrass me and I would have to hide the methane meter.  I could wear a hoop skirt or a bustle to hide the meter but this has the danger of someone mistaking my modesty for sexual dysfunction.  My only out would be to wear a bourka, much like a Muslim woman.  The problem here is that if I happened to speak to a male friend and was spotted by a Muslim man, I could be stoned to death

  As you can tell, this situation really has me worried. There is another item that has me equally worried.  It is   PIG ODOR.  As I understand it is really bad in Iowa.  As I see it there are several things that could be done.  First would be to give the pigs a deodorant.  I don’t know if underarm deodorant would work as pigs do not have arms.  Someone would have to come up with an under ham and under shank deodorants or perhaps a combination of both.  This of course, would require a multi-million dollar grant from the government. The pigs could also be mandated by the government to take weekly baths.

   I have a much simpler solution to the problem but I can see why no one in government would consider it.  I would simply move the people upwind of the pigs or move the pigs downwind from the people.  Damn I am smart.    

  Turtle mortality also bothers me.  It can be a real problem in Florida.  In Florida the turtles are much like the people. They cannot read.  They tend to cross the roads where there are no crosswalks.  The result is that turtle meets tire and the result is the turtle tends to lose the encounter.  Fortunately our congress has come up with a plan to install “turtle underpasses” at strategic points along the hi-ways.  The only thing that has not been determined is how Algore can get his bread hooks on the stimulus money.  As soon as that is figured out, construction can begin.

Since I started this missile the government has come up with several ideas; among them are the “Cash for Clunkers” program and the latest version of “Obamacare”.  God help us all!!!

Cap and Trade

Letter: Flush with insight  

  I managed to get a letter to the editor published in the local Naples paper.  I think this qualifies me for a Pulitzer  prize.      Dal

I have just figured out “cap and trade.”

Let’s say the federal government limits the number of times you can flush your toilet to two times per day and charges you 10 cents per flush in taxes. Let’s call it a “flush tax.”

You happen to not need two flushes per day because the government has limited your ability to generate income and you are starving to death. You will be glad to sell your extra flush back to the government and accept 5 cents as a tax rebate. That way you can survive just a bit longer.

Your one flush then actually then costs you 15 cents. Let’s call it a “hidden” tax.

The government then takes your extra flush and turns it over to a Wall Street trader who deals in “flush tax” trading. The trader then finds someone that is “overproducing” and desperately needs extra flushes because he consumes so much to maintain a high level of productivity. He must buy extra flushes.

The cost for extra flushes is set by the government at $1 each. The overproducer has three choices: pay the extra “flush tax” for the required flushes and raise prices, go out of business or move his production to a place that has no “flush tax.”

The Wall Street trader collects a 5 percent fee per “flush tax” traded or 5 cents. The 95 cents that remains is considered an “investment” by the government and is taxed at 100 percent. This investment is doled out in the form of “bailouts” for worthy (?) causes.

There. Explained.

Another thesis on man/woman

Another Thesis by Dal

Having such a resounding success with my last treatise on “kissing”, I have decided to explore other strange habits, doings, and other oddities practiced by Man (woman).  This amateur anthropologist is on a roll.  Since I have so much time on my hands, and am too lazy to do anything productive, I have decided to take on the study of “attraction”.

What is it that attracts man to woman and woman to man.  For instance, why do Japanese men find a woman’s neck such an attraction.  Why do some African men find a woman with disc’s inserted in her upper and lower lips to be a knock-out?  I personally think it makes the woman look like a duck.  What is it about a bone in the nose?  But, who am I to judge someone else’s opinion of beauty.

In America, men are twitter-pated by a woman’s legs, waist, buttocks, mammary glands, face and hair.  Pretty much the whole woman, piece by piece.  A woman is attracted by a man’s leg muscles, gluteus maximus, abs, pectoral muscles, broad shoulders, hair, (or lack of), eyes, and nose.  There are a few more items than a woman finds attractive, but you get the picture.

Why no one in the western hemisphere interested in, for example, toes, is a mystery.  What is the matter with knee caps as being something to drool over?  What about wrists and fingernails?  Men are attracted by a woman’s eye lashes, but a woman could care less about a man’s.

Most men find a shorter woman to be attractive, but women like their men to be tall.  Some women will fall head over heels for a crumb bum, but others find a well heeled man to be just her cup of tea.  Neither in today’s world think of a person of great girth to be attractive.  Ancient man (woman) might have had a different opinion as this type of person could better weather a famine

Again, I think it all boils down to what both sexes consider to be the things that will best promote healthy offspring.  Being a man, there are some of these attributes (wow) that I find to be reasonable, others are unfathomable. Perhaps these questions are best unsolved.  What a dull world this would be if everyone liked the same thing.  We would find a large majority of both sexes to be chasing after a smaller group of the opposite gender.

With tongue in cheek and head on sideways, I remain, Dal

A good laugh

As many of you know, Connie bought a red convertible sports car , in December,  while we were in Florida.  The following is an incident that happened on our way to the lake this weekend.

  Connie had stopped in Waterloo to buy a newspaper and get some happy hour “fixins” while I sat in the car with the top down.  The following is an exchange with a “gentleman” that came wobbling down the street.

Gent:  That sure is a purty car.  I always has liked red.  Is it brand new?

Dal:  Actually it is my girlfriend’s car.  She bought it in Florida.

Gent:  Florida?  Sure is a nice place.  (He then walked around the car)  By golly, it does have Florida plates on it. Don’t it?

Dal:  Yeah, She bought it there after her husband died.  He left her a pile of money and she is having a good time spending it.

Gent:  He died?  Shore am sorry about that.

Just then Connie came back from the store.

Gent:  I shore like your car.  I always liked red convertibles.

Connie:  Well I had to wait 49 years for it and I think that I deserved it

Gent:     Walks away mumbling.

Dal:  Bends over with head below dash and multitasked.  (Snorted snot through nose, passed gas, and almost peed his pants)

Connie:  Backs car into street. And says “what in the world is the matter with you”?

When we stopped at a light a block down the street, I explained the exchange between the gent and I, and how her statement at the end was the perfect (unknowing) retort and really fit the situation.  We both got quite a laugh from the whole thing.

Dals rules of life

Da

Never use a stop watch to time your wife’s labor pains.

If someone spits on the floor in front of you, it means he doesn’t like you.

If your boss says that you are too valuable to promote, he is lying.

If you have an impossible job and you explain that to your boss and he offers to fire you, it is permissible to go back to your desk and have a good cry.  When your snot starts to pile up on your desk pad, it is time to stop.  Blow your nose, dry your eyes, grit your teeth, and soldier on.

If the same boss stops by your desk while you are working and says, “I hear that you are going to have a hemorrhoid operation”.  “When you come back to work you will be a perfect  -------, so how would you like to have a job in work measurements”.  Jump at the chance.

Never argue with your wife.  She is smarter than you are.

Thank God that HE was wise enough to bless you with the wife you have, rather than the dizzy blond that you were chasing before you met your wife.

Bite the bullet and accept minor punishment, rather than see someone else suffer a major career setback.  You will get over it and never regret it.

Never pull a manure spreader full of pig droppings too fast.  Really dirty corncobs will defy the laws of physics as well as gravity and whack you in the back of the head.

Mow your lawn carefully if your yard line is close to where your neighbor chains his dog.

Treat your kids nicely.  After all, they are miniature versions of you and they will be the ones that cry at your funeral.

Give those same kids $1000 (or more) each year for Christmas.  They will know that it comes from the heart and will be able to buy something they really want (and need).  They will think of you every time they enjoy the item. (This is especially true if you are a cheapskate)

Rake the leaves in your yard so that they do not blow over on your neighbor’s yard.  Better yet, gather up his leaves.

Feed the neighbors dog “doggie treats” every day.  The dog will be a loyal friend but you do not have to worry about his upkeep

The guy in the office that glad hands everyone and slaps the boss on the back usually ends up being a politician.

If you go for a job interview and the interviewer tells you that you do not have the education or experience to do the job, it means that he wants someone that he can pay less.

Be proud of what you have accomplished in life.  Work so that you can be proud.

Decorate your house the way your wife wants.  After all, she spends more time than you do.  You can always retreat to your shop or garage or the basement to enjoy your own environment.

If your wife wants a sports car, buy her one.  That way you can have at least a partial choice and she will not end up with a pile of iron.  Better yet, let her buy it by herself.  That way you are not to blame for anything.

Keep in touch with your kids.  Call them at least once a week.  Better yet, get them in the habit of calling you.

Do things with your wife.  Play golf with her at least once a year even if you dislike golf.  Go out for lunch or dinner once a week.  She will appreciate the chance to get out and be with you.  For God’s sake don’t take her to a cheap eating establishment.

Let your wife enjoy time with her female friends, doing things she enjoys.  After all, she spent time raising the kids while you were socializing at work.

Admire her flowers.

Treat your neighbor with respect.  That doesn’t mean you can’t tell him that he full of condensed owl droppings up to his eyebrows if you say it in a nice way.

I wish that I had followed all my “rules”. I have not, but I would have been a better person if I had.

Dal Wolf