When I turned 70….#347 3/14/2017

“If you do not take an interest in the affairs of your government, then you are doomed to live under the rule of fools.” – Plato

Welcome to Drivel Over Coffee or whatever this is. Spring is upon us thankfully or so I thought. We got a bunch of snow Sunday night. For heaven sakes, the birds had their spring chirping going, the trees were beginning their budding, and the flowers were waking. What a conundrum.

Oh, a conundrum is something that is puzzling or confusing. Here are six Conundrums of socialism in the United States of America for example:

1. America is capitalist and greedy – yet half of the population is subsidized.
2. Half of the population is subsidized – yet they think they are victims.
3. They think they are victims – yet their representatives run the government.
4. Their representatives run the government – yet the poor keep getting poorer.
5. The poor keep getting poorer – yet they have things that people in other countries only dream about.
6. They have things that people in other countries only dream about, yet they want America to be more like those other countries.

Here are three things that have me completely vexed. Yes, vexed right here on Hysteria Lane but not to worry I don’t take it outside.

1. We are advised to NOT judge ALL Muslims by the actions of a few lunatics, but we are encouraged to judge ALL gun owners by the actions of a few lunatics.

2. And, here’s another one worth considering… Seems we constantly hear about how Social Security is going to run out of money. But we never hear about welfare or food stamps running out of money! The first group “worked for” their money, but the second didn’t!

3. Why are we cutting benefits for our veterans, no pay raises for our military and cutting it to levels lower than before WWII, but we are not stopping the payments or benefits to illegal aliens?

When I turned 70….

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow said to be seventy years old is like climbing the Alps. You reach a snow-crowned summit, and see behind you the deep valley stretching miles and miles away, and before you other summits higher and whiter, which you may have strength to climb, or may not. Then you sit down and meditate and wonder which it will be.

I thought my life was over but then I discovered how great it is to be 70. After all, last summer I got caught taking a pee in the swimming pool. The lifeguard shouted at me so loud, I nearly fell in.

I hadn’t been to a tavern in a long, long time. Last year, when I turned 70, I decided to go out on the town one last time. So, I went to a tavern. It was packed, the booze was flowing and music blaring. It was the worst time of my life. You see, I went in and sat down at the bar between a couple of young women. The one on my right and I began talking. She said, “If you lost a few pounds, had a shave and got your hair cut, you’d look all right. I said, “If I did that, I’d be talking to your friends over there instead of you.” Cost me a fat lip, but…When you are seventy……………who cares?

The girl on the other side of me comforted me and my fat lip. Shucks, she even bought me a drink. We began chatting. I told her about my ability to guess what day a woman was born just by feeling her breasts. “Really” she said, “Go on then… try.” After about thirty seconds of fondling she began to lose patience and said, “Come on, what day was I born?” I said, “Yesterday.” Cost me a kick in the well you know, but…When you are seventy…………..who cares?

I made my way to a table to nurse my lip and my groin when right next to me a BIG woman began dancing on a table. I said, “Good legs.” The girl giggled and said, “Do you really think so?” I said, “Definitely! Most tables would have collapsed by now.” Cost me 6 more stitches but, when you are seventy…………..who cares?

I went back to the bar to get a rag to stem the bleeding from my wound and hold ice on my fat lip. This FAT ugly chick came up behind me, grabbed my behind and said, “You’re kinda cute. You gotta phone number?” I said, “Yeah, you gotta pen?” She said, “Yeah, I got a pen”. I said, “You better get back in it before the farmer misses you.” Cost me another 6 stitches…but hey, when you are seventy…………..who cares?

After the hospital emergency room stitched me up I went to the drugstore to get pain pills they prescribed. I was hurting pretty good from the treatment at the bar. I gave the prescription to the clerk and told the clerk “Give me 3 packets of condoms, also please.” The lady clerk (a cute little thing): “Do you need a paper bag with that, sir? I said “Nah… She’s purty good lookin’…..” When you are seventy…………..who cares?

Better than a Flu Shot!

Miss Beatrice, the church organist, was in her eighties and had never been married. She was admired for her sweetness and kindness to all. One afternoon the pastor came to call on her and she showed him into her quaint sitting room. She invited him to have a seat while she prepared tea…

As he sat facing her old Hammond organ, the young minister noticed a cut-glass bowl sitting on top of it. The bowl was filled with water, and in the water floated of all things, a condom! When she returned with tea and scones, they began to chat. The pastor tried to stifle his curiosity about the bowl of water and its strange floater, but soon it got the better of him and he could no longer resist.

“Miss Beatrice”, he said, “I wonder if you would tell me about this?” Pointing to the bowl.
“Oh, yes,” she replied, “Isn’t it wonderful? I was walking through the park a few months ago, and I found this little package on the ground. The directions said to place it on the organ, keep it wet and that it would prevent the spread of disease. Do you know, I haven’t had the flu all winter.”

Saint Patrick’s Day

Saint Patrick’s Day celebrates the life and teachings of a man named Patrick, born in Roman Britain, who was kidnapped and sold as a slave in Ireland at the age of 16. He escaped, but later returned as St Patrick, bringing Christianity with him. Many legends have been associated with St Patrick, and with the day that celebrates his life. His death occurred sometime around March 17, 461.

Father O’Malley rose from his bed one morning. It was a fine spring day in his new parish. He walked to the window of his bedroom to get a deep breath of the beautiful day outside. He then noticed there was a donkey lying dead in the middle of his front lawn.

He promptly called the local police station. The conversation went like this:
“Good morning. This is Sergeant Jones. How might I help you?” “And the best of the day te yerself. This is Father O’Malley at St. Ann’s Catholic Church. There’s a donkey lying dead in me front lawn and would ye be so kind as to send a couple o’yer lads to take care of the matter?”

Sergeant Jones, considering himself to be quite a wit and recognizing the Irish accent, thought he would have a little fun with the good father, replied: “Well now Father, it was always my impression that you people took care of the last rites!” There was dead silence on the line for a moment. Father O’Malley then replied: “Aye,’ tis certainly true; but we are also obliged to notify the next of kin first, which is the reason for me call.”

The phone rings and Father O’Malley answers. An official voice on the other end of the line says: “Is this Father O’Malley?” “It Is.” “This is the Revenue Service. Will you please help us?” “I’ll try.”

“Do you know a Seamus O’Doul?” “I do.” “Does he attend your service?” “He does.” “Did he make a large donation to your Church?” “He will.”

The good Father was warning his listeners about the suddenness of death. “Before another day is ended,” he thundered, “somebody in this parish will die!” Seated in the front row was a little old Irishman who laughed out loud at this statement. Very angry, the priest said to the jovial old man, “What on earth is so funny?” “Well!” spoke up the oldster, “Thank God I’m not a member of this parish!”

Liam had just stood trial and was awaiting the verdict. The news was much better than he expected! “That will be five pounds or a month in jail!” the judge ordered harshly. After a moment’s thought, Liam respectfully replied “very well Sir. I’ll take the five pounds.”

Paddy was in New York, patiently waiting and watching the traffic cop on a busy street crossing. The cop stopped the flow of traffic and shouted, “Okay, pedestrians.” Those on foot would cross the street. Then he would allow the traffic to pass. He had done this several times while Paddy still stood at the crosswalk, getting more and more impatient. After the cop had shouted, “Pedestrians!” for the tenth time, Paddy went over to him and said, “Is it not about time ye let the Catholics across?”

…. And that, my friends, is yet another issue of the Drivel. As I always say “If I can make at least one-person smile, laugh till they leak, or maybe spit out a drink, then my day was not wasted. Until we meet again -TA!”