I did not have a pleasant ride home from the casino Saturday night. You'd think Hick was afraid of suffering from methanmysitisis. Yeah. That's a made-up disease, like Seinfeld's uromysitisis, when he was caught peeing in the parking garage. Except the danger Hick is avoiding is exploding from methane gas backed up from not farting, rather than urine backed up from not peeing. I swear. I don't know how you guys walk around with those things. And by things, I mean EXCUSES!
I should have known I was in trouble when Hick leaned over the steering wheel of A-Cad, his chin almost touching. When he gets that kind of leverage for lifting his own ample rumpus off the seat, I know what's coming.
"WHEW! You're killing me. That stinks SO BAD!!!"
"Val. It's just a fart."
"I KNOW that! Now I have to breathe it. It STINKS!"
"Your farts stink, too."
"The difference is, I don't let mine out in the car so you're trapped with it. I don't know why you can't hold it. What are you, a toddler?"
"No, Val. I'm not a toddler. It's just a fart."
"I shouldn't have to breathe it the rest of the way home."
"There you go. Why can't you just sit there and ride?"
"Because I'm choking to death on your fart."
"You don't travel well."
"Traveling should not include breathing other people's farts. Don't you have any self-control? Why do you think that's normal, to do that in the car?"
"It's just a fart."
Yeah. Would Hick have done that with the ex-mayor my sister's husband riding behind him? I don't think so. But because it's only Val, he sees no need to control his gaseous emissions. Would Hick have tooted if Her Majesty the Queen was riding behind him? Probably. Because she's ONLY a woman, and of course we just have to deal with manly eccentricities. They're entitled. We are not.
I guess I should count myself lucky that Hick didn't have a salad with onions at the buffet, or I would have gotten the belch/fart combo.
Tuesday, July 3, 2018
Monday, July 2, 2018
A Saturday Night Out With Thevictorians
Saturday night, Hick and I went to the casino. Hick wanted to go. Not that I was going to refuse! We are not Saturday night casino people. We go at off hours, in the daytime. But Hick wanted this time because of the grand prize drawing. It was a $15,000 home makeover from Menards. OR $10,000 in cash.
"Are you sure you want to go? The drawing isn't until 11:00. Then we have to drive home. It won't bother ME, because I'm up at that time anyway. But you're not used to it. We won't get back until almost 1:00."
"I'll be fine. I want a chance at that drawing."
"We're not going to win."
"I never thought you'd win that $100 drawing, either!"
"Oh, so the pressure is all on ME to win!"
"Nah. I have three chances. And we'll probably earn more while we're there."
So...off we went, Hick with his three chances, and me with my four. There were other drawings, one or two per hour, from 6:00 to 11:00. Even with a stop at Goodwill, and to get gas in A-Cad, we arrived by 5:45. Of course there was a bigger crowd than we find on Monday afternoons.
The first order of Hick's business was to go directly to the bin, to deposit our chances in the drawing. They were on little papers, like receipts. We'd only been twice (!) this month, and the first time nobody gave us our chances, even though they were given out every day in June. One per day, and more, depending on how much you played. The instructions were to bring them back on Saturday, the last day of the month, to enter the drawing.
Hick was all excited to put in his chances. Until he got behind a guy who was putting in HIS chances. He had a brown paper grocery sack full of them, tossing in handfuls at a time. I was wishing Hick would turn around, so I could give him my I TOLD YOU SO look. But he didn't. We finally put in our chances, and Hick said, "That's just crazy! There's no way we can win if people do that!"
"I know. But think how much money he had to spend to get that many tickets. He could have paid for his own home makeover, and had a sure thing."
When they started announcing the other prizes, I was not impressed. An air fryer. A $100 gift card for Menards. A deep freeze. $100 cash. $500 cash. Okay, the $500 cash was worth it. But the others...not worth it to me, to be there crammed in with all those annoying gamblers. Who took up the machines I wanted to play. Hick, not so much, because he just sits down at one and puts his money in. He doesn't care if it's a slot he knows, or how to play it. I have my favorites, and when I don't get them, I'd just as soon leave. Really.
Anyhoo...we headed for the buffet right after the first drawing. It cost more because it was steak and prime rib night. As we were ordering, the guy asked if we wanted to check our points, to see if we had some to comp the meal. Here's the thing. The last time we did that, Hick complained that his point total went down. THIS time, Hick had $3 and change that he could have used for the meal, but he said no. My card had $11 worth of meal money. I hadn't used mine last time. I prefer to take it back as cash, and gamble with it. But Hick said quickly, "Yeah, we'll use that one." SEE WHAT HE DID? Hick used my comp money to pay for part of our meal. But not his. He's a sly one, Mr. Hick.
The buffet was tasty. I particularly enjoyed the fish. I don't know what kind of fish it was, but it had a cornmeal batter. The orange chicken actually had chicken in it this time. I made an excruciating faux pas at the fried chicken station. What I thought was a thigh turned out to be some kind of freakish almost-breast, like a hank of white meat on ribs. So I guess I had mostly a back portion. Which was dry. I also had some of the brisket, which was tender and flavorful. No big tray of cake to go under my ice cream this time. But I would rate the meal a success.
We hurried back into the casino for the 7:00 drawing. Let the record show that we did not win. Anything. All night. I lost a bundle, and Hick played for 4 hours on $60. That's incredible! He's much thriftier when he spends his OWN money.
I'm guessing it was the guy with the paper sack of entries who won the Menards Makeover. Hick said a lady sitting by him said, "That guy wins every drawing they have here."
Horror of horrors...when we were waiting in line to get into the buffet, Hick pointed out a sign on the desk that said the buffet would be closed on Mondays and Tuesdays, starting in July! I don't know what we'll do now. We like Old People Mondays, because it's easy to get on the machines we like. However, part of the draw is eating at the buffet, with our $10 each Old People Food Credit.
I guess we'll have to eat somewhere else, or go on a different day and pay full price for food. Such a terrible problem to have.
"Are you sure you want to go? The drawing isn't until 11:00. Then we have to drive home. It won't bother ME, because I'm up at that time anyway. But you're not used to it. We won't get back until almost 1:00."
"I'll be fine. I want a chance at that drawing."
"We're not going to win."
"I never thought you'd win that $100 drawing, either!"
"Oh, so the pressure is all on ME to win!"
"Nah. I have three chances. And we'll probably earn more while we're there."
So...off we went, Hick with his three chances, and me with my four. There were other drawings, one or two per hour, from 6:00 to 11:00. Even with a stop at Goodwill, and to get gas in A-Cad, we arrived by 5:45. Of course there was a bigger crowd than we find on Monday afternoons.
The first order of Hick's business was to go directly to the bin, to deposit our chances in the drawing. They were on little papers, like receipts. We'd only been twice (!) this month, and the first time nobody gave us our chances, even though they were given out every day in June. One per day, and more, depending on how much you played. The instructions were to bring them back on Saturday, the last day of the month, to enter the drawing.
Hick was all excited to put in his chances. Until he got behind a guy who was putting in HIS chances. He had a brown paper grocery sack full of them, tossing in handfuls at a time. I was wishing Hick would turn around, so I could give him my I TOLD YOU SO look. But he didn't. We finally put in our chances, and Hick said, "That's just crazy! There's no way we can win if people do that!"
"I know. But think how much money he had to spend to get that many tickets. He could have paid for his own home makeover, and had a sure thing."
When they started announcing the other prizes, I was not impressed. An air fryer. A $100 gift card for Menards. A deep freeze. $100 cash. $500 cash. Okay, the $500 cash was worth it. But the others...not worth it to me, to be there crammed in with all those annoying gamblers. Who took up the machines I wanted to play. Hick, not so much, because he just sits down at one and puts his money in. He doesn't care if it's a slot he knows, or how to play it. I have my favorites, and when I don't get them, I'd just as soon leave. Really.
Anyhoo...we headed for the buffet right after the first drawing. It cost more because it was steak and prime rib night. As we were ordering, the guy asked if we wanted to check our points, to see if we had some to comp the meal. Here's the thing. The last time we did that, Hick complained that his point total went down. THIS time, Hick had $3 and change that he could have used for the meal, but he said no. My card had $11 worth of meal money. I hadn't used mine last time. I prefer to take it back as cash, and gamble with it. But Hick said quickly, "Yeah, we'll use that one." SEE WHAT HE DID? Hick used my comp money to pay for part of our meal. But not his. He's a sly one, Mr. Hick.
The buffet was tasty. I particularly enjoyed the fish. I don't know what kind of fish it was, but it had a cornmeal batter. The orange chicken actually had chicken in it this time. I made an excruciating faux pas at the fried chicken station. What I thought was a thigh turned out to be some kind of freakish almost-breast, like a hank of white meat on ribs. So I guess I had mostly a back portion. Which was dry. I also had some of the brisket, which was tender and flavorful. No big tray of cake to go under my ice cream this time. But I would rate the meal a success.
We hurried back into the casino for the 7:00 drawing. Let the record show that we did not win. Anything. All night. I lost a bundle, and Hick played for 4 hours on $60. That's incredible! He's much thriftier when he spends his OWN money.
I'm guessing it was the guy with the paper sack of entries who won the Menards Makeover. Hick said a lady sitting by him said, "That guy wins every drawing they have here."
Horror of horrors...when we were waiting in line to get into the buffet, Hick pointed out a sign on the desk that said the buffet would be closed on Mondays and Tuesdays, starting in July! I don't know what we'll do now. We like Old People Mondays, because it's easy to get on the machines we like. However, part of the draw is eating at the buffet, with our $10 each Old People Food Credit.
I guess we'll have to eat somewhere else, or go on a different day and pay full price for food. Such a terrible problem to have.
Sunday, July 1, 2018
Some Days You're the Garage Floor, Some Days You're the Alfredo Sauce
Friday was not a good day for Val.
Actually, Val had a bonus extra-long day of 27.5 hours, because the not-goodness started Thursday night at 8:12, when Even Steven decided to derail the best-laid plans of Val. It was the second night of the Big Brother season. Part II of the two-part premiere. The Pony and I used to watch together, and this show makes me miss him all the more. I'd sent him a text Wednesday, reminding him of Part I of the premiere, and he said he was planning to watch it with a friend, and order in pizza. I was DVRing it myself, to watch around 11:00.
Anyhoo...Thursday evening, I sent The Pony another text, that I could watch in real time, if he wanted us to text comments during commercials. He was down for that. So I went to my OPC (Old People Chair) at 8:00, to begin watching my program. Of course I'd set my DVR in a manner not conducive to live watching. It's not like I have The Hopper. I can only record two shows at once. I'd chosen Bringing Up Bates, on the UP channel, and Big Brother. Sometimes I like to rewind to confirm something I miss. BUT the Bates show was recording on the channel I had to watch live. So I waited until first commercial, and canceled both recordings, setting them up on opposite recording DVR thingies.
I'd just started watching Big Brother live when OUR DISH WENT DOWN. That's due to weather. Severe thunderstorms. We were in the red area on the weather map, I saw from watching the recording of the first 12 minutes of my show, on the tiny radar map inset at the bottom of the screen. Of course that put the kibosh on bonding with The Pony. He DID try to fill me in on key points.
At 9:05, I regained DISH service. Great! Now I could watch the second half with The Pony. But no. Because Thursday's show was only an HOUR, not two hours, like Part I on Wednesday. But never fear! The Pony texted me: "Wanna hear nominations?"
"Yes!"
Six minutes later, I still had no response. "Oh. Was that just a question, and you don't plan to tell me?" After 30 more minutes, I finally got more info.
"Sorry. I started working on a presentation. It was Sam and Steve. The robot girl and the cop."
The next morning, I was up bright and early, to drive the boys' weekly letters to the main post office, and make a mobile deposit for The Pony's monthly allowance. Except the app for making a mobile deposit didn't work. That's another story in itself.
I set to getting ready for town. While filling up my purple mini bubba cup with ice water to take along, I knocked it off the cutting block. After filling, of course. Do you know how many crescent-shaped ice cubes from FRIG II that my mini bubba cup holds? That's 17. I know, because I counted each one as I roamed the kitchen, picking them up off the floor.
Before getting in T-Hoe, I had to fetch the big green trash dumpster from the end of the driveway. The day wasn't going to get any cooler than the current 86 degrees. I might have blacked out momentarily on the way back. There were a couple of minutes I couldn't account for.
I was nearly to the low-water bridge when the Poop Truck came barreling down the other side and forced me to put T-Hoe's right-side tires dangerously close to the 2-foot drop-off at the edge of the blacktop. The Poop Truck stops for no one! It's like a septic tank cleaner truck, with a tank full of poop. Hick told me about it. It makes 3 or 4 runs a day, to a field up off a side road, and dumps poop from the prison. That's what Hick says. Of course I have no way to verify it, although I DO see the Poop Truck and where it goes. I can't believe that's legal, or that the prison doesn't have a better sort of waste disposal system.
Stopping at Orb K to get scratchers to put in Genius's letter...I returned to T-Hoe to see black ANTS crawling all over the envelopes in my purse! I guess they had gotten on there when I set my purse (and purple mini bubba cup!) on the counter next to the roaster pan of cat kibble on the side porch while fetching the dumpster.
The trip to the post office went without a hitch. Afterwards, I stopped for some gas, but the nozzle thingy wouldn't let me clip the lever, so I had to squeeze it the whole time. I bought myself two scratchers, but they were losers. My current tally is 2 winners out of 18 tickets!!! Fortunes should change soon, I would hope.
I had justsettled by brain for a long winter's nap settled my gullet for a peaceful midday lunch, when Hick sent me a text that HOS's daughter was bringing her little brother over to Poolio for a swim. It's not like I have to entertain them. She's out of high school, and he's seven. But you never know when there might be an emergency. So I wasn't truly OFF DUTY from worry.
That evening, as I was making terrible taters for supper, I burned my hand on one of them while turning them in the microwave. I'm pretty sure it was Hick's, of course! Boy, was I steamed! Heh, heh. That's a little baked-potato injury humor for you. Then taking them out, I dropped one from the over-stove microwave onto the stove. The end kind of split open. It was Hick's potato. I made sure! He ate it anyway, though.
And the cherry on top of this treat of a day was that when I was shutting down New Delly at 11:24 p.m., a message popped up. "Your team viewer session has timed out and will close now."
WTF?
Apparently, I have a whole TEAM of spies keeping track of me!
Actually, Val had a bonus extra-long day of 27.5 hours, because the not-goodness started Thursday night at 8:12, when Even Steven decided to derail the best-laid plans of Val. It was the second night of the Big Brother season. Part II of the two-part premiere. The Pony and I used to watch together, and this show makes me miss him all the more. I'd sent him a text Wednesday, reminding him of Part I of the premiere, and he said he was planning to watch it with a friend, and order in pizza. I was DVRing it myself, to watch around 11:00.
Anyhoo...Thursday evening, I sent The Pony another text, that I could watch in real time, if he wanted us to text comments during commercials. He was down for that. So I went to my OPC (Old People Chair) at 8:00, to begin watching my program. Of course I'd set my DVR in a manner not conducive to live watching. It's not like I have The Hopper. I can only record two shows at once. I'd chosen Bringing Up Bates, on the UP channel, and Big Brother. Sometimes I like to rewind to confirm something I miss. BUT the Bates show was recording on the channel I had to watch live. So I waited until first commercial, and canceled both recordings, setting them up on opposite recording DVR thingies.
I'd just started watching Big Brother live when OUR DISH WENT DOWN. That's due to weather. Severe thunderstorms. We were in the red area on the weather map, I saw from watching the recording of the first 12 minutes of my show, on the tiny radar map inset at the bottom of the screen. Of course that put the kibosh on bonding with The Pony. He DID try to fill me in on key points.
At 9:05, I regained DISH service. Great! Now I could watch the second half with The Pony. But no. Because Thursday's show was only an HOUR, not two hours, like Part I on Wednesday. But never fear! The Pony texted me: "Wanna hear nominations?"
"Yes!"
Six minutes later, I still had no response. "Oh. Was that just a question, and you don't plan to tell me?" After 30 more minutes, I finally got more info.
"Sorry. I started working on a presentation. It was Sam and Steve. The robot girl and the cop."
The next morning, I was up bright and early, to drive the boys' weekly letters to the main post office, and make a mobile deposit for The Pony's monthly allowance. Except the app for making a mobile deposit didn't work. That's another story in itself.
I set to getting ready for town. While filling up my purple mini bubba cup with ice water to take along, I knocked it off the cutting block. After filling, of course. Do you know how many crescent-shaped ice cubes from FRIG II that my mini bubba cup holds? That's 17. I know, because I counted each one as I roamed the kitchen, picking them up off the floor.
Before getting in T-Hoe, I had to fetch the big green trash dumpster from the end of the driveway. The day wasn't going to get any cooler than the current 86 degrees. I might have blacked out momentarily on the way back. There were a couple of minutes I couldn't account for.
I was nearly to the low-water bridge when the Poop Truck came barreling down the other side and forced me to put T-Hoe's right-side tires dangerously close to the 2-foot drop-off at the edge of the blacktop. The Poop Truck stops for no one! It's like a septic tank cleaner truck, with a tank full of poop. Hick told me about it. It makes 3 or 4 runs a day, to a field up off a side road, and dumps poop from the prison. That's what Hick says. Of course I have no way to verify it, although I DO see the Poop Truck and where it goes. I can't believe that's legal, or that the prison doesn't have a better sort of waste disposal system.
Stopping at Orb K to get scratchers to put in Genius's letter...I returned to T-Hoe to see black ANTS crawling all over the envelopes in my purse! I guess they had gotten on there when I set my purse (and purple mini bubba cup!) on the counter next to the roaster pan of cat kibble on the side porch while fetching the dumpster.
The trip to the post office went without a hitch. Afterwards, I stopped for some gas, but the nozzle thingy wouldn't let me clip the lever, so I had to squeeze it the whole time. I bought myself two scratchers, but they were losers. My current tally is 2 winners out of 18 tickets!!! Fortunes should change soon, I would hope.
I had just
That evening, as I was making terrible taters for supper, I burned my hand on one of them while turning them in the microwave. I'm pretty sure it was Hick's, of course! Boy, was I steamed! Heh, heh. That's a little baked-potato injury humor for you. Then taking them out, I dropped one from the over-stove microwave onto the stove. The end kind of split open. It was Hick's potato. I made sure! He ate it anyway, though.
And the cherry on top of this treat of a day was that when I was shutting down New Delly at 11:24 p.m., a message popped up. "Your team viewer session has timed out and will close now."
WTF?
Apparently, I have a whole TEAM of spies keeping track of me!
Saturday, June 30, 2018
ExtraCENTSory Reception
Oh, what a cent-filled week we weave, when first we post so we can leave.
Yeah. How's this pre-scheduled posting working out for Val? Seems that no sooner do I have my Saturday Pennyillionaire data all done and ready to publish...that I head to town and find some cents. Uh huh. The Universe, Karma, and Even Steven do their best to slap some cents into me. So this week, you're getting a leftover. Given to you to read about THIS week, but found LAST week, on SATURDAY, June 23rd.
That's a nickel, by cracky, that I almost stepped on coming out of The Gas Station Chicken Store, clutching my 44 oz Diet Coke and two scratchers. It wasn't there when I went in, so I had to juggle my purchases and take that picture one-handed as I left.
The closeup didn't show much. It looked like that bedazzler thingy that fooled me over at Orb K one time.
So I took a better closeup of this 2015 on the kitchen counter when I got out my magnifying glass to check the date. What an unfortunate likeness of Thomas Jefferson! It's almost as bad as my driver's license photo! I swear, ol' Thomas looked better sitting on a boot taking a crap. This nickel makes him look like...if that bad Lucy statue, and Cornelius of Planet of the Apes, had a metal baby that cut its own hair. Without a mirror.
______________________________________________________________________
But wait! Val is not serving you a diet of ONLY leftovers! There were fresh coins this week too!
SUNDAY, June 24th, I stopped by Orb K on my way to Walmart. Normally, I would stop on the way back, but there were no cars parked out front. While the old gal clerk was getting my tickets, I saw a DIME on the floor.
Looks like cleanliness is not next to ORBliness. I swear I didn't spill! I don't even get my magical elixir there.
This was a 2016, just begging for me to pick it up. So I did. After a photo to commemorate the occasion.
Would wonders never cease? On to Walmart I went, where I had to park on a different row than usual. But there was a reason for that, I guess, because when I came out, the rain just starting,
I rolled over a 2002 penny halfway to T-Hoe. No, that's not a coin under the cart itself. Only blue gum. I felt a little deja vu from my too-close encounter with that at Casey's the other day.
I now provide the closeup, to prove that this penny, along with his silver brethren above, was FACE DOWN. It seems to be a trend. And while you're dwelling on that, you're not dwelling on my BUNS, which you can see in the child seat of my cart in the previous picture.
_________________________________________________________________________
MONDAY, June 25th, I made a detour to Country Mart to get some scratchers. They turned out to be losers, but I DID score a penny.
This 1999 was face up, finally!
Poor Old Abe had a dirty face, but I guess that's what happens when you party like it's 1999, and wake up on the floor of a grocery store at 11:51 a.m. Monday morning.
_______________________________________________________________________
There you go, a pre-packaged Pennyillionaire post, so I can spend the afternoon and evening at a casino. What are the odds that I might even find a penny there...
_________________________________________________________________________
For 2018: Pennies # 51, 52.
For 2018: Dimes # 10.
For 2018: Nickels # 3.
Since 2017 (the beginning), this was Penny # 129, 130.
Since 2017 (the beginning), this was Dime # 16.
Since 2017 (the beginning), this was Nickel # 3.
_____________________________________________________________________
Yeah. How's this pre-scheduled posting working out for Val? Seems that no sooner do I have my Saturday Pennyillionaire data all done and ready to publish...that I head to town and find some cents. Uh huh. The Universe, Karma, and Even Steven do their best to slap some cents into me. So this week, you're getting a leftover. Given to you to read about THIS week, but found LAST week, on SATURDAY, June 23rd.
That's a nickel, by cracky, that I almost stepped on coming out of The Gas Station Chicken Store, clutching my 44 oz Diet Coke and two scratchers. It wasn't there when I went in, so I had to juggle my purchases and take that picture one-handed as I left.
The closeup didn't show much. It looked like that bedazzler thingy that fooled me over at Orb K one time.
So I took a better closeup of this 2015 on the kitchen counter when I got out my magnifying glass to check the date. What an unfortunate likeness of Thomas Jefferson! It's almost as bad as my driver's license photo! I swear, ol' Thomas looked better sitting on a boot taking a crap. This nickel makes him look like...if that bad Lucy statue, and Cornelius of Planet of the Apes, had a metal baby that cut its own hair. Without a mirror.
______________________________________________________________________
But wait! Val is not serving you a diet of ONLY leftovers! There were fresh coins this week too!
SUNDAY, June 24th, I stopped by Orb K on my way to Walmart. Normally, I would stop on the way back, but there were no cars parked out front. While the old gal clerk was getting my tickets, I saw a DIME on the floor.
Looks like cleanliness is not next to ORBliness. I swear I didn't spill! I don't even get my magical elixir there.
This was a 2016, just begging for me to pick it up. So I did. After a photo to commemorate the occasion.
Would wonders never cease? On to Walmart I went, where I had to park on a different row than usual. But there was a reason for that, I guess, because when I came out, the rain just starting,
I rolled over a 2002 penny halfway to T-Hoe. No, that's not a coin under the cart itself. Only blue gum. I felt a little deja vu from my too-close encounter with that at Casey's the other day.
I now provide the closeup, to prove that this penny, along with his silver brethren above, was FACE DOWN. It seems to be a trend. And while you're dwelling on that, you're not dwelling on my BUNS, which you can see in the child seat of my cart in the previous picture.
_________________________________________________________________________
MONDAY, June 25th, I made a detour to Country Mart to get some scratchers. They turned out to be losers, but I DID score a penny.
This 1999 was face up, finally!
Poor Old Abe had a dirty face, but I guess that's what happens when you party like it's 1999, and wake up on the floor of a grocery store at 11:51 a.m. Monday morning.
_______________________________________________________________________
There you go, a pre-packaged Pennyillionaire post, so I can spend the afternoon and evening at a casino. What are the odds that I might even find a penny there...
_________________________________________________________________________
For 2018: Pennies # 51, 52.
For 2018: Dimes # 10.
For 2018: Nickels # 3.
Since 2017 (the beginning), this was Penny # 129, 130.
Since 2017 (the beginning), this was Dime # 16.
Since 2017 (the beginning), this was Nickel # 3.
_____________________________________________________________________
Friday, June 29, 2018
Back-of-the-Book-Blurb Friday #106 "The Tallest Diving Board in the World"
Blog buddy Sioux is hosting Back-of-the-Book-Blurb Friday
again. I have 150 words to convince you to fake-buy my fake book. This
week's fake book is a true story of perseverance. A tale of a youngster who overcame the odds, just by being born, and is fighting to overcome even more. Pool your fake money, and start a fake-book club. Order Val's latest fake book now, and use it as a springboard for discussion.
Girlypoo is the last of 15 children, the only girl. Though her brothers have always been protective, Girlypoo (as they call her) is having none of it! She is determined to make a name for herself, and not just be know as finally, a girl.
For her birthday, Girlypoo asked for a trip to The Tallest Diving Board in the World. She's always had a bit of a fear of heights, maybe from all those brothers tossing her in the air in infancy. She'll show THEM!
Will Girlypoo earn new respect from her brothers, and with it, a new nickname? (100 words)
__________________________________________________________________
A Kite..."Thevictorian must have been higher than me when she fake-wrote this fake book. She needs a knot jerked in her tail forthwith, to slow down her fake career."
Other Noses, on Other People..."Oh, how we wish people would pinch us closed. Not to prevent water from entering us upon completion of a dive, but because we cannot bear the stench of Thevictorian's fake writing. Limburger could throw a party and host a skunk, a teenage boy's sweat socks, an over-the-road truck driver's crack, a chicken coop, a hog farm, and have a blooming corpse flower as the guest of honor...and STILL the atmosphere would be more pleasant."
Diving Board..."Let's hope that Thevictorian does not use this fake book as a springboard for further fake efforts in the fake publishing world. Her writing is stiff at best, and deserves no platform. Let's make this fake book her swan song, as it reveals itself to be a flop."
Lifeguard..."I fear that I may lose my certification, since I am unable to save the public from from going down for the 106th time, struggling and gasping, at the horror that is one of Thevictorian's fake books."
Treetops..."While this young girl has ascended to such heights with her determination and bravery, to soar like an eagle...Thevictorian remains on the ground, a bloated, soon-to-be extinct dodo, unwilling to rise to the literary occasion."
Depths of Despair..."Don't I know it, Treetops! I've had to undergo a complete renovation, to make room for all the folks who are trying to fake-read this latest fake effort from Thevictorian, and are falling into me all willy-nilly, 24/7/365."
Underbelly of a Snake..."I daresay that my expectations for Thevictorian's next fake book are lower than...um...than ME!"
High Jump Apparatus..."Yes, Thevictorian sets the bar so low that a common slug, drunk from the plate of beer set out to do it in, could out-fake-write her if he took the proper approach."
Bottom of THE Barrel..."I was scraped by people looking for Thevictorian's previous fake works, but had to tell folks to search a little lower. Her fake writing does not get better with age, and it's best to stave off the fake-readers' hopes as early as possible. Thevictorian fails to rivet the fake-readers' attention. The bunghole holding back her fake talent should remain forever stoppered."
A Diamond Mine in South Africa..."I am deep enough to house Thevictorian's fake library, but we don't have anything like her fake books here. They're not exactly gems, you know."
Lover's Leap..."I just LOVE the bravery of this little gal in the fake story. I do not, however, love the fake writing of Thevictorian. Can't even say that I like it. Cannot fake a middling toleration. She sucks. If a natural landmark was named for Thevictorian, it would be called Sucker's Leap."
The Tallest Diving Board in the World
Girlypoo is the last of 15 children, the only girl. Though her brothers have always been protective, Girlypoo (as they call her) is having none of it! She is determined to make a name for herself, and not just be know as finally, a girl.
For her birthday, Girlypoo asked for a trip to The Tallest Diving Board in the World. She's always had a bit of a fear of heights, maybe from all those brothers tossing her in the air in infancy. She'll show THEM!
Will Girlypoo earn new respect from her brothers, and with it, a new nickname? (100 words)
__________________________________________________________________
Fake Reviews
for Val’s Fake Book
A Kite..."Thevictorian must have been higher than me when she fake-wrote this fake book. She needs a knot jerked in her tail forthwith, to slow down her fake career."
Other Noses, on Other People..."Oh, how we wish people would pinch us closed. Not to prevent water from entering us upon completion of a dive, but because we cannot bear the stench of Thevictorian's fake writing. Limburger could throw a party and host a skunk, a teenage boy's sweat socks, an over-the-road truck driver's crack, a chicken coop, a hog farm, and have a blooming corpse flower as the guest of honor...and STILL the atmosphere would be more pleasant."
Diving Board..."Let's hope that Thevictorian does not use this fake book as a springboard for further fake efforts in the fake publishing world. Her writing is stiff at best, and deserves no platform. Let's make this fake book her swan song, as it reveals itself to be a flop."
Lifeguard..."I fear that I may lose my certification, since I am unable to save the public from from going down for the 106th time, struggling and gasping, at the horror that is one of Thevictorian's fake books."
Treetops..."While this young girl has ascended to such heights with her determination and bravery, to soar like an eagle...Thevictorian remains on the ground, a bloated, soon-to-be extinct dodo, unwilling to rise to the literary occasion."
Depths of Despair..."Don't I know it, Treetops! I've had to undergo a complete renovation, to make room for all the folks who are trying to fake-read this latest fake effort from Thevictorian, and are falling into me all willy-nilly, 24/7/365."
Underbelly of a Snake..."I daresay that my expectations for Thevictorian's next fake book are lower than...um...than ME!"
High Jump Apparatus..."Yes, Thevictorian sets the bar so low that a common slug, drunk from the plate of beer set out to do it in, could out-fake-write her if he took the proper approach."
Bottom of THE Barrel..."I was scraped by people looking for Thevictorian's previous fake works, but had to tell folks to search a little lower. Her fake writing does not get better with age, and it's best to stave off the fake-readers' hopes as early as possible. Thevictorian fails to rivet the fake-readers' attention. The bunghole holding back her fake talent should remain forever stoppered."
A Diamond Mine in South Africa..."I am deep enough to house Thevictorian's fake library, but we don't have anything like her fake books here. They're not exactly gems, you know."
Lover's Leap..."I just LOVE the bravery of this little gal in the fake story. I do not, however, love the fake writing of Thevictorian. Can't even say that I like it. Cannot fake a middling toleration. She sucks. If a natural landmark was named for Thevictorian, it would be called Sucker's Leap."
Thursday, June 28, 2018
I Wishes Were Horses, Bettors Should Not Wager on Hick
"The time has come," the Valrus said
To talk of many things
Of Hick and drugs and job prospects
And lack of cell phone rings
Also, if Hick can be hired
And how unemployment stings."
Perhaps you recall how Hick has been professing for a over a year now that he's going to get a job at an unnamed pharmacy that operates out of an unmarked storefront on the abandoned plaza in Backroads. How Hick heard from a clerk at Casey's (who no longer works there) that this No-Name Pharmaceutical Den was hiring, and he picked up an application, and was certain that he'd be working the next day. Because the guy he talked to said Hick lived so close that he couldn't wait to start sending him on deliveries.
REEEEE!
That's the scratch of the needle of misfortune upon the LP record of life. Hick turned in his paperwork, including a letter from the Social Security office regarding his lost card, before we went to visit The Pony. That was June 6, 7, 8. He heard nothing from his sure-thing employer.
Let the record show that the evening before we left for Oklahoma, HOS (Hick's Oldest Son), who had also applied for one of the delivery jobs at the No-Name Pharmaceutical Den, sent a text that he had been hired, and was going out on a run that very night.
Oh, the irony (I think), so sweet!
All along, Hick had declared that he was a shoo-in for this job. But it was given to HOS over Hick. Which was okay with Hick, because he had gone on and on about what a shame it would be when he got the job, because HOS needed it more than him right now. Heh, heh! Hick even has a Class D driver's license, which is supposedly required, and HOS doesn't.
Of course I've spent many a day ribbing Hick about being by-passed for the job. "Well, I guess you scared them, asking all those questions, and refusing to sign some of the paperwork. Maybe you should have just signed it without reading it, like HOS."
"I can't believe he signed that he'd had safety training, and been given equipment, and all that other stuff that they wanted me to sign. Like I had a copy of their rules, which they don't give out."
Last week, after calling the place several times, asking if they still needed someone, Hick decided to let it go. "I don't really NEED that job. It might interfere with my Storage Unit Store. It would be handy for winter, though, when I'm not selling..."
The next day, a guy from the No-Name Pharmaceutical Den called Hick, to tell him there was a problem with his paperwork, and that he could come by and pick it up. Hick brought home a big folder, with pages he hadn't signed. Which he then signed, even though he still didn't have the information it said he did. Hick said he'd asked the guy about it to clarify that he still didn't have them, and got a partial explanation.
When Hick took his paperwork back, the guy told him, "You know that you have to dress like a professional, right? And make sure you wash your hands, and don't have grease under your fingernails. For example, you could go home and take a shower and get cleaned up, and you'd be okay to make a run."
HAR HAR HAR HAR! I'm not even going with heh, heh. This was freakin' hilarious! Because Hick, even though he leaves smudges on the top of the paper towel roll, never has obviously dirty arms and hands. And he was wearing a pair of jeans, a maroon short-sleeved T-shirt with an emblem from his old workplace. No rips, no stains, and tucked into his belt. HOS, on the other hand, has a penchant for wearing ripped jeans, and shirts with the sleeves cut out.
Anyhoo...on Tuesday, Hick got a call! He was supposed to show up at 8:00 p.m. at the No-Name Pharmaceutical Den, to accompany HOS on a run to the city, as training. That irony (I think) gets sweeter and sweeter! At 9:39, I got a text that Hick and HOS still didn't have their pharmaceuticals to start their run. At 11:20 p.m., they made their first stop. By 12:30, they were on their way home, and got back around 2:00 a.m.
Hick, who's used to 9 hours of sleep every night, was up again at 8:00. He should have been more careful what he wished for.
To talk of many things
Of Hick and drugs and job prospects
And lack of cell phone rings
Also, if Hick can be hired
And how unemployment stings."
Perhaps you recall how Hick has been professing for a over a year now that he's going to get a job at an unnamed pharmacy that operates out of an unmarked storefront on the abandoned plaza in Backroads. How Hick heard from a clerk at Casey's (who no longer works there) that this No-Name Pharmaceutical Den was hiring, and he picked up an application, and was certain that he'd be working the next day. Because the guy he talked to said Hick lived so close that he couldn't wait to start sending him on deliveries.
REEEEE!
That's the scratch of the needle of misfortune upon the LP record of life. Hick turned in his paperwork, including a letter from the Social Security office regarding his lost card, before we went to visit The Pony. That was June 6, 7, 8. He heard nothing from his sure-thing employer.
Let the record show that the evening before we left for Oklahoma, HOS (Hick's Oldest Son), who had also applied for one of the delivery jobs at the No-Name Pharmaceutical Den, sent a text that he had been hired, and was going out on a run that very night.
Oh, the irony (I think), so sweet!
All along, Hick had declared that he was a shoo-in for this job. But it was given to HOS over Hick. Which was okay with Hick, because he had gone on and on about what a shame it would be when he got the job, because HOS needed it more than him right now. Heh, heh! Hick even has a Class D driver's license, which is supposedly required, and HOS doesn't.
Of course I've spent many a day ribbing Hick about being by-passed for the job. "Well, I guess you scared them, asking all those questions, and refusing to sign some of the paperwork. Maybe you should have just signed it without reading it, like HOS."
"I can't believe he signed that he'd had safety training, and been given equipment, and all that other stuff that they wanted me to sign. Like I had a copy of their rules, which they don't give out."
Last week, after calling the place several times, asking if they still needed someone, Hick decided to let it go. "I don't really NEED that job. It might interfere with my Storage Unit Store. It would be handy for winter, though, when I'm not selling..."
The next day, a guy from the No-Name Pharmaceutical Den called Hick, to tell him there was a problem with his paperwork, and that he could come by and pick it up. Hick brought home a big folder, with pages he hadn't signed. Which he then signed, even though he still didn't have the information it said he did. Hick said he'd asked the guy about it to clarify that he still didn't have them, and got a partial explanation.
When Hick took his paperwork back, the guy told him, "You know that you have to dress like a professional, right? And make sure you wash your hands, and don't have grease under your fingernails. For example, you could go home and take a shower and get cleaned up, and you'd be okay to make a run."
HAR HAR HAR HAR! I'm not even going with heh, heh. This was freakin' hilarious! Because Hick, even though he leaves smudges on the top of the paper towel roll, never has obviously dirty arms and hands. And he was wearing a pair of jeans, a maroon short-sleeved T-shirt with an emblem from his old workplace. No rips, no stains, and tucked into his belt. HOS, on the other hand, has a penchant for wearing ripped jeans, and shirts with the sleeves cut out.
Anyhoo...on Tuesday, Hick got a call! He was supposed to show up at 8:00 p.m. at the No-Name Pharmaceutical Den, to accompany HOS on a run to the city, as training. That irony (I think) gets sweeter and sweeter! At 9:39, I got a text that Hick and HOS still didn't have their pharmaceuticals to start their run. At 11:20 p.m., they made their first stop. By 12:30, they were on their way home, and got back around 2:00 a.m.
Hick, who's used to 9 hours of sleep every night, was up again at 8:00. He should have been more careful what he wished for.
Wednesday, June 27, 2018
Prizes for the Prize
Surely you've heard of sweets for the sweet. Well, my Sweet (unrelated reference) Baboo has the same policy, only he seems to think the expression is prizes for the prize. Okay. He doesn't really. But I DO consider myself a prize. And Hick DID text me last week that he was bringing me home a prize from the auction. In his case, he really meant a surprise. But he shortens things like that.
For days I heard nothing else about my prize! Nada. If loose lips sink ships, the entire fleet of every navy on earth was bobbing above the water line. I refused to ask about my prize. I figured Hick would get around to gifting me when he was ready. Or when he remembered to unload his car.
Mid-week, I woke up to find my prize sitting on the kitchen counter. Let's just say I certainly WAS surprised! I moved it to the back porch for a photo session, where the rustic setting enhances the beauty of my prize.
It's a LEATHER STEIN, by cracky! That I can use to hoist my beers. Except I don't drink beers any more, being a reformed teetotaler since before Genius was born.
I'm pretty sure you've all gone past the leather stein already, and are curious about what's inside. At first, I thought it might be Billy Beer. Hick collects beer memorabilia, you know. But upon removal from the leather stein (I just can't type that phrase enough), I saw that it was not.
It's a can of CLINTON COLA! Can you read it? ONE TASTE TO COME BACK 4 MORE. Heh, heh. That's My Man Bill's picture on the front. Now don't anybody get all political on me. I'm not making a political statement at all. I've always enjoyed Bill Clinton. I don't care how many women he did not have sex with, or how many people associated with him suffered unfortunate, untimely, questionable deaths. He's MY MAN BILL, by cracky! I even like the John Travolta version of him in Primary Colors.
But there's MORE detail that I can't skim over, even while giddy at the though of MY MAN BILL sitting on my back porch railing.
Did you notice that my leather stein is embossed in gold, with POOR MAN'S STEIN? And has an engraved metal nameplate with RON on it?
I pointed out to Hick that I liked my prize, but that I'm not poor, I'm not a man, and my name is not Ron.
"I know that. I bought it for the soda. I know you like Bill Clinton."
Not sure what I'm going to do with my prize. Maybe Hick will build me a themed shed for it.
For days I heard nothing else about my prize! Nada. If loose lips sink ships, the entire fleet of every navy on earth was bobbing above the water line. I refused to ask about my prize. I figured Hick would get around to gifting me when he was ready. Or when he remembered to unload his car.
Mid-week, I woke up to find my prize sitting on the kitchen counter. Let's just say I certainly WAS surprised! I moved it to the back porch for a photo session, where the rustic setting enhances the beauty of my prize.
It's a LEATHER STEIN, by cracky! That I can use to hoist my beers. Except I don't drink beers any more, being a reformed teetotaler since before Genius was born.
I'm pretty sure you've all gone past the leather stein already, and are curious about what's inside. At first, I thought it might be Billy Beer. Hick collects beer memorabilia, you know. But upon removal from the leather stein (I just can't type that phrase enough), I saw that it was not.
It's a can of CLINTON COLA! Can you read it? ONE TASTE TO COME BACK 4 MORE. Heh, heh. That's My Man Bill's picture on the front. Now don't anybody get all political on me. I'm not making a political statement at all. I've always enjoyed Bill Clinton. I don't care how many women he did not have sex with, or how many people associated with him suffered unfortunate, untimely, questionable deaths. He's MY MAN BILL, by cracky! I even like the John Travolta version of him in Primary Colors.
But there's MORE detail that I can't skim over, even while giddy at the though of MY MAN BILL sitting on my back porch railing.
Did you notice that my leather stein is embossed in gold, with POOR MAN'S STEIN? And has an engraved metal nameplate with RON on it?
I pointed out to Hick that I liked my prize, but that I'm not poor, I'm not a man, and my name is not Ron.
"I know that. I bought it for the soda. I know you like Bill Clinton."
Not sure what I'm going to do with my prize. Maybe Hick will build me a themed shed for it.
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