Bucket List, Schmucket List

Many people talk about making bucket lists, things they want to do before they die. Some also refer to it as “living life to its fullest”. The problem is everyone’s list is kind of the same:

1. go skydiving

2. run a marathon

3. climb a mountain

4. kill a drifter with a gardening trowel

Always the same. Booooooring. Let’s try and liven those lists up. Here are some suggestions to make your bucket list original:

1. wrestle a badger for a piece of string cheese

2. replace your finger nails with thin slivers of Formica

3. eat only watermelon for a month

4. ride cross country with a long-haul trucker named Spider

5. escape with your life from the cab of an 18-wheeler driven by a man named Spider

6. give testimony against Spider in open court

7. weave baskets from your nose hair

8. win a Pulitzer Prize then denounce your life’s work as derivative and obfuscatory

9. fly first class, sitting in your seat naked and clipping your toenails

10. go into witness protection once Spider is released from his supermax prison

11. eat a T-bone steak covered in potato chips, rutabaga and molasses

12. shove 27 nickels in your ears

13. take a photo of your thumb every day for a year and then exhibit the pictures at a local art gallery

14. paint your entire house red, then have a dinner party and greet your guests with the phrase “Welcome to hell.”

15. kill Spider with a Cuisinart blade when he finds you after being released from prison

These are just a few of the things you can do to make completing your bucket list worthy of a story on a TV news show or the subject of one of those annoying internet lists that make you click “next” a thousand times to find out what that one actor from that TV show you used to watch looks like now only to find out he isn’t part of the list anyway and that fucking website tricked you into wasting 26 minutes of your life.

Now get out there and have fun!

A Web of Ridiculousness

I’m sharing my porch with a spider. He’s one of those that spin a web at night and when the sun comes up he’s gone.

I don’t like spiders. I admit they make me scream like a man with his junk caught in a bear trap that’s in a shark’s jaw being sat on by the 600 pound ghost of Haystacks Calhoun.

This spider is spinning his web off my porch roof so it’s up high enough that I can walk by and not get caught in it. The other day though I noticed the web was getting bigger. A few strands of silk were getting close to head height for me so we had to have a talk.

Me: I notice the web is expanding. We talked about this size issue before.

Spider: Sorry but me and the missus just had another brood of kids. I need to catch more food.

Me: How many kids do you have?

Spider: 670 at last count.

Me: They don’t live nearby do they?

Spider: God no! I’d never get any peace if the old lady and the kids were living with me. No, I have them set up across the street in your neighbor’s drainage spout. The rent’s a little high but we need the space.

Me: You pay rent?

Spider: Oh yeah. All the spouting in the area is controlled by the centipede family. Man those things creep me out.

Me: Yeah . . . me too. Anyway, remember our deal. The web stays high enough that I don’t run into any of it and end up dancing around the yard like a loon trying to get it off of me.

Spider: Right, right. I’m trying to only widen it but I had to spin a support beam down farther. There’s still clearance.

Me: It’s close though.

Spider: I’ll watch it. By the way, my wife really likes the way your living room is decorated.

Me: How . . . how would she know . . . ?

Spider: The window! She looked through the window!

Me: Is she in my living room right now?

Spider: No, no!

Me: Ahhhh!

Spider: Margaret! Run!

Oh yeah, that web is coming down soon.

Suppertime Shenanigans

I bought some salmon steaks at the grocery store last week. I like salmon a lot but rarely buy it because it’s expensive and I’m cheap; a combination that’s like matter and anti-matter or David Hasselhoff and music.

While at work yesterday I decided to make one of the filets for supper so I got on my ipad and searched for a recipe. I found one that sounded good and was simple, saved the page and went back to work.

When I got home before I could make supper I had to do dishes. They were everywhere; in the sink, on the stove, on the counter. It looked like one of my weekly recreations of Mel’s Diner from the old TV show Alice where I dress the cat up like Flo and try to get her to meow so it sounds like “Kiss my grits”. The scratches on my face and neck indicate she doesn’t enjoy this diversion as much as I do.

With a clean kitchen I thawed out one of my salmon filets and then pulled up the web page with the recipe on. I received this message:

Woops! This page is down for maintenance

What? The one recipe I chose out of dozens, just a few hours ago, and now I can’t get to the page?

The cat laughed at me. The salmon steak chuckled. David Hasselhoff guffawed from his throne made of money in his mansion made of German gold records.

So I had to search for another recipe. The first one required me to wrestle my fresh salmon from the claws of a bear . . . so . . . let’s skip that one. Hmm, this one asks for 33 different spices including oil of sausage casings and shavings from a roasted persimmon. Nah. Oh, here’s a good one. Wait, step 3 is a sacrifice to Molech.

I gave up and dug out some recipes I keep in a folder on a bookshelf. There I found a quick, easy marinade. I mixed it up, marinated the salmon and then grilled it. Delicious. David Hasselhoff called to ask for a bite.

Of course, now my sink has dishes in it again. Time for another re-enactment. Here kitty, kitty.

TP for the Q of E

After a bike ride on the trail the other day I used a port-a-potty at the edge of the parking lot. There were two identical plastic enclosures on the wall. One held toilet paper, the other you couldn’t see what was inside and it had a padlock on it with a message “Do Not Remove”. Made me wonder what exactly was in the plastic case. Is this where they keep the “good” toilet paper? You know, like when you were a kid and Mom always had the “good” china and silverware you only used on Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Imagine the Queen of England visiting our area and during a tour of the local farmland and hoi polloi, nature calls to her. She stops in at the trail station and one of her retinue announces

“The Queen requires to drop a deuce. Please issue your finest papier toilette.”

Some maintenance man named Butch with a six day growth of beard and wearing a t-shirt stained with wing sauce steps forward.

“Uh, yessir. Give me, uh, one minute.”

Butch pulls a flap of skin away from his left ear and slips out a small key made of cut crystal. He steps into the port-a-potty, opens the padlock and lifts out a roll of 34-ply toilet paper flecked with specks of gold. He sits the roll on a shelf. It begins playing a Debussy piano concerto. The tube inside, made of wood taken from the limb of a 1000 year old tree in the Schwarzwald of Baden-Wurttemberg, sprays the area with jasmine scented mist.

Also in the container is a hermetically sealed jar containing butterflies, the laughter of small children and light captured from supernova SN 1006. Butch removes the lid and the portable bathroom becomes incandescent and pastoral. A privy fit for royalty.

Then again, the plastic box might just contain some back-up rolls of Joe’s 1-Ply Shitter Paper. 

Why am I Surrounded by Idiots?

Case #1  I had gone to a Royal Farms store in Ocean City Maryland to pick up an out of state newspaper, Fruit Stripe gum and bailing twine. I also thumbed through the latest issue of “Independently Wealthy Long-Legged Nordic Women Looking for Older Men: Eastern Shore Edition” but decided not to spend the money. When I left I needed to walk across the parking lot to get to my SUV. There was a pick-up truck parked next to me with his headlights on and motor running, but he hadn’t moved yet.

I had a feeling he was going to pull out at any moment because he was holding up a sign that read “I’m going to pull out at any moment!” I hesitated. He still didn’t move so I began walking toward my vehicle. He waits until I’m in the middle of the lot before driving forward and cutting in front of me, almost running me over.

Case #2  I stopped at a yard sale last Friday. The house was at the side of a busy road but the shoulder was wide enough to set up a traveling carnival on. I checked out the yard sale, then played a few games of Pop-a-Shot, rode the Himalaya and ate some cotton candy. When I was done I got back in my SUV.

I started the engine but didn’t pull away because I was inputting an address into my GPS. A woman in a mini-van pulls in front of me. She proceeds to pull forward, back up, pull forward, back up, pull forward, back up, pull forward, back up . . . WHAT ARE YOU DOING? PARK THE DAMN VAN! When she is finally parked, she has backed up so close to my vehicle that now I have to back up to pull out into traffic. Then when I pull out, she chooses that precise moment to fling her door open so I almost clip her van door off.

Case #3  I went to a local supermarket which I won’t name. I’ll just say the name sounds like “wise” but is spelled Weis. I needed taco shells, maple syrup and more bailing twine. After finding my items I walked to the check-out lines. There were three registers with lights on but no one there to ring me up. I discovered why when I saw a gaggle (is “gaggle” correct, or is it a “pack”, a “shitpile” or perhaps an “annoyance” of cashiers?) of cashiers standing around talking. I stood still for a moment. One of them caught sight of me and looked up. She had a puzzled expression on her face. “Why is there someone with merchandise in their hands standing at my register? Do I have gum in my mouth or am I chewing on my tongue? Huh, I just got hit by a box of taco shells.”

She eventually turned back to the conversation with her co-workers that I’m hoping was about when they thought they would be fired for being incompetent. I had the twine wrapped around my fists ready to choke all three of them, but instead I went to the only line with someone working and sighed heavily.

Why am I surrounded by idiots?

Who You Got?

Donald Trump, a cross between a russet potato and a Clementine, seems to be the likely republican candidate for president. Ted “Haters Gonna Hate” Cruz and John “Someone please vote for me” Kasich are still hanging around, even conspiring to form an unholy alliance predicted by Nostradamus.

On the democratic side Hillary Clinton, playing the woman card by being an actual woman, is inching closer to her party’s nomination with big wins in Pennsylvania, Delaware and Maryland last Tuesday. Bernie Sanders and his dream of “Crazy Bernie’s Discount America: everything must go and it’s FREE!” is still alive, but is taking on water like a fishing boat in a storm.

In the middle of all this are the American people: Divided, angry, and disorganized. “Who do we vote for?” we ask ourselves. Should we vote for the most heinous man walking the planet or Donald Trump? John Kasich? Nah, no one’s asking that.

Maybe we should vote for the first female president in American history? How about the first president that sounds like Larry David? (I don’t think the founding fathers saw that one coming)

In November 2016 we will vote for someone. When it’s all over some Americans will be happy, some will be disappointed. Many will shrug their shoulders and mumble into their Fruit Loops. Others will still be watching the USA network marathon of NCIS and will have forgotten to vote.

In January of 2017 a new president will be sworn in. It may be a woman, it may be a man, or it may be whatever Ted Cruz is. One thing is certain: whoever we elect is well and truly fucked.

This is Where We Are

What to make of this election cycle. Casaba melon in a bad toupee Donald Trump is still the Republican front runner.

Reptilian car salesman Ted Cruz is in second, staying just close enough to give people a reason to concoct Machiavellian scenarios to blow up the Republican convention.

John Kasich is also still participating.

On the Democratic side Hillary’s pant suits have gained sentience and are actually campaigning for her in various states. A sky blue ensemble did an interview on CNN the other day. Don Lemon was 45 minutes into it before he realized he was talking to a JC Penney summer special.

Everyone’s grandpa who gives out ribbon candy at Halloween, Bernie Sanders, continues his turns so far left NASCAR drivers won’t follow him. He spouts his goals with belief and vehemence but gives little information on how he’s going to accomplish them.

What does it all mean?

On the Democratic side, Hillary is the insider front-runner with shady dealings in her past, a machine behind her pushing her forward and the only candidate with both domestic and foreign policy experience.

Bernie has ideas that sound wonderful: free college tuition, free healthcare, etc. The only way to pay for it all is tax increases. So Bernie wants to tax the rich, but the rich don’t like to be taxed. That’s how they stay rich. Also many policy experts say his ideas won’t bring in enough revenue to cover his plans.

Backers of both candidates, instead of coming together, are sniping at one another. Bernie supporters are saying if Hillary wins the nomination they won’t vote for her. The American voter: an infant who lost their lolly.

As for the Republicans, Donald Trump is a hateful, bigoted, grand-standing egomaniac whose election to president could destroy the country.

Ted Cruz may be even worse.

Republican voters don’t know what to do. The racist wing of the party is good with Trump and all of his horseshit because it matches their own horseshit world view. The Evangelical wing of the party is leaning to Cruz even though they feel he may be the Devil incarnate. There are indications the convention could be a madhouse.

With all these candidates’ limitations and foibles, with the electorate dissatisfied, disenchanted and drained from a process that is too long, with the primary season in chaos, could John Kasich become president?

No.