Potatoes are "apples of the earth" in French but maybe apples are potatoes of the tree

This reminds me I have to prepare some potatoes for dinner.  2 hours 15 minutes at 375F.  Luckily the oven has a timed bake feature so that it will finish when it is good and ready and turn itself off.


 An elderly woman visited a produce store.

She requested 6kg of potatoes. The owner was delighted to help and started packing the potatoes. However, the woman stopped him and requested that each potato be wrapped individually. The man complied and asked if there was anything else he could help with.

The woman then decided she needed 4kg of onions to be wrapped in a similar manner. The shop owner packed the onions and asked if there was anything else. The woman asked for 8kg of carrots.

"Let me guess," said the owner with a sour face, "you want them wrapped individually."

"Oh, that would be grand." she said.

The shop owner fulfilled her request and packed all her items in a bag.

The woman then asked: "What are in those crates behind you?"

The man flushed red and said "Madam, these are grapes and they are not for sale!"

I have an entomology joke, but it clearly bugs everyone.

 Apparently I have a property that is perfect for raising interesting insects. 

Congratulate me, it's a boy and a girl.  Twin Monarch Butterflies.  The girl flew off.  The boy is still resting on my front porch at 830 in the morning.

And in the back yard, there is a colony of bees who have decided that an old cabinet we have there is perfect for them.  They will be dispatched with the utmost prejudice.  As big as I am, I am terrified of bees.  This is Florida.  They could well be africanized.  Dunno, don't want them.  They are swarming all over that cabinet and my backyard is pretty much blocked off.


Anyway...  Unless I used this one before, here it is again!



 A man tells his doctor "Doctor, my girlfriend is pregnant, but we always use protection and the rubber never broke. How can she be pregnant?"

The doctor considered his question for a moment, and then began to tell a story:

“I have a friend who is an avid hunter and never misses a season. One day, he was setting off to go hunting. In a bit of a hurry, he accidentally grabbed his umbrella instead of his gun. As he neared a lake, he came across a large beaver sitting at the water’s edge. Since he only had his umbrella, he couldn’t shoot the magnificent creature."

"Whimsically, he raised his umbrella, aimed it at the animal as if it were his hunting rifle, and said ‘bang, bang’. Miraculously, the beaver flinched twice as if it had just been shot, then fell over dead.”

"Now, what do you think of that ?” asked the doctor.

The man said, “Logic would strongly suggest that somebody else pumped a couple of rounds into that beaver.”

The doctor replied, “Exactly! Next patient, please.”

Looking Inward, Watching Me.

The view from the rocker is furry. 

It would be much less furry if I could stop procrastinating and actually run the vacuum.  More frequently, of course.

Here I sit in my rocker.  No, I am not off my rocker, but I am being watched.

Every day.  No matter where I am.

The view from the rocker is out the front door.  Actually out of the front of the house but from the rocker, I look out to the driveway.

It's impact glass.  A Step or three less thick than what you see in the bank.  When I tell people that I live in a bunker I mean it. 

None of this prepper post-apocalyptic nonsense.  We have codes here to try to make a hurricane survivable in South Florida.  Roofs are tied down with extra straps.  Walls are made from CBS.  The house is a Concrete Block Structure.  Windows with Impact Glass. 

Where a Californian won't worry about an earthquake over a certain strength, I don't worry until a hurricane is above a Category 2.  Cat 3 or stronger. 

I have had birds fly into the windows with a resounding "thump".  They generally need time to at least clear their heads.

Cats.  *Sigh* There is no such thing as an outdoor cat.  No matter what you think, you are wrong.  It will be a much safer kitty if it is inside your house.  Why?

Coyotes.  Yes, most places have "yotes".  They will eat little kitty cat if they find them.

Two legged vermin will do dastardly deeds to them as well.

Love your cats, keep them with you.

They look in on me too.  I am blessed with all sorts of critters coming up to my front door and looking in at me.  Typically I will walk to the door and flick the lock and they scatter.  I'm not welcoming I guess.

But Rack.  He's doing his job.  He watches the front door and scans for intruders.  Letter Carriers, package delivery, Pizza deliveries.  They all set off a cacophony of barks.

Luckily he's losing his hearing.  Selective deafness. 

If I want to go out to that Jeep in the great outdoors, he won't like it.  Nothing loud, I am the alpha after all.  I'll just get sad dog eyes.  So I either slink out the "Illegal Door" in the car port, or I will step over him.

"You're a good boy, watch the house".  I tell him.

Not that a mostly toothless almost 14 year old dog will be that much of a guard but we humor him. 

If he spots anything outside, he'll "let us know".

Just back from a dog walk and dinner, he has been pacing for a half hour and finally settled.  Right back at his place.  In front of the door. Looking inward and watching me.

Why don't you find hippopotamuses hiding in trees? They're really good at it.

Strange thing about summer in South Florida.  We get rain storms float through.  It looks like a Leopard's hide on Radar.  Green Blobs.  It's also 90F and 65% humidity when it isn't raining.  If you want to go outside and work on the yard and you are doing it casually, you wait for the rain to get close but not here, then get in a little bit done in the clouds just before the rain hits.  

It's a strategy game.  If you will excuse me, I have a mango tree I have to attack!




 2 roofers at work

Two roofers, Bob and Dan, were putting a new roof on a barn when a bundle of shingles slid down the slope and knocked the ladder over.

Bob and Dan decided since it was early they would continue working because someone would surely come around by quitting time.

It was nearing 5 PM and they hadn't seen hide nor hair of anyone. So they walked around the roof a few times and finally decided there was only one way down.

On the west side of the barn was a big manure pile.

Bob said, It's the only way down. I will go first."

Bob jumped.

Dan heard the squishy landing and yelled, “Hey Bob! How deep did you go?"

Bob yelled back, “I went to my ankles Dan, come on – JUMP!"

Dan jumped and sank clear up to his neck in manure.

“I thought when you jumped you went up to your ankles!” he shouted at Bob.

“I did, explained Bob, "but I landed head first.”

If you turn a canoe over, you can use it as a hat because it is capsized.

I have to say that this is basically one of the reasons I park where I do when I go for a workout.  The spaces are all the same, but there is a tree to the passenger side. 

While I park close to the tree, there is always some knucklehead right on my driver's side.

Enjoy your dent.





  A parking story

So God is chilling up in heaven.....

And he wants to go down to Earth and see how things are going. But he can't just go down to Earth, that would cause the rapture.

So he calls up St. Peter and asks him to go do some recon on his behalf. St. Peter does as he's told, takes off, and comes back 2 weeks later.

"God... I don't know how to say this but it's terrible down there. Absolutely terrible."

"Really?" God responds.

"Well for starters 90% of the people down there don't know how to park a car correctly" St. Peter says.

"Stop right there." God proclaims. "We need to fix THAT issue right now."

So they brainstorm for a bit and God goes "I got it! We will make a plaque, and we will give it to the 10% of people who know how to park"

And do you know what that plaque said???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

Oh you didn't get one?

23 Years, 55555 Miles, Third Jeep Wrangler

Yes, I still have that Jeep.

23 years later.  It finally hit a milestone number on the clock.  55555 miles.

89407 km for the Imperially Impaired.

I was sitting at a stop light in Pompano Beach.  Southbound on Federal Highway, US1, and Mc Nab Road.  Seems like that's been my history for quite a while.  Always heading south on US1. Always carving a groove in US1. 

I got into Jeeps back when AMC was a going concern.  I had a friend who was influencing me.  I commented that I was tired of "Fussy Cars" that had problems.  I wanted something I could fix if I had to but had to be well supported.

He took me out into the NJ Pine Barrens with his own CJ 7.  I was hooked. 

I got myself a CJ 7, charcoal with a hard top.  I had that car for about 3 years and enjoyed it until I drove it to Indianapolis.  It ruined my back.  So I got a small car and drove that back home. 

That was a mistake.  I never stopped missing that CJ. 

So after I wrecked the small car and had a mistaken flirtation with a Ford Taurus, I got a Chevy Nova.  Mind you that was basically a Toyota Corolla and it fit me well for 10 years.  It started having issues with rust and someone who I was seeing was being cranky about being in a small car so I was pointed to the new Jeeps.

"It's a Jeep TJ.  The Wranglers.  They are actually comfortable unlike your CJ and you never stopped talking about that one."

So I test drove a TJ.  Bought it that day.  Only draw back was it was an Automatic.

I don't know why anyone wants a Jeep with an Automatic.  It's just not... Jeeplike.

I need to "Row My Own".  I need to be in touch with what I am doing. 

Three years later, I got this one.  5 speed.  4 liter inline 6 motor.  One of the last indestructible engines that was made.  Still AMC designed but built by Chrysler in the Toledo Ohio plant. 

It has the nicest sound when you drive it on the road.  Between 30 and 50 it sings to you in third gear, purrs in fourth.  I should know, I put it in that gear myself.

It's also a thirsty beast, and has always been.  16 MPG is a good time for me.  The best I ever got was 23 mpg and that took a tail wind and a trip to Key West, FL to do it.

Pro Tip is if you ever are going to Key West, plan your trip to hit the Seven Mile Bridge at sunset and make sure you have a convertible car.  Put the roof down and enjoy that ride.  One of the most beautiful rides you can ever have, I did it both in that Jeep and a Honda GoldWing Interstate motorcycle.  If you plan your timing right the stars come out like someone threw glitter in the air.

No, really, it is truly that beautiful.

I'd even consider driving you there, if you talk nice to me, and pay for gas, food, and lodging.  I may be nostalgic and a bit of a travel romantic, but I am not stupid, Key West is damn expensive!

If we do go, you had better be comfortable with my choice of music.  My Jeep, My Rules.  No country, none of that "Album Rock" crap.

But let me get the old boy serviced.  23 years is a long time and the hoses are starting to crack.  That's why the engine light is on the dash board.  It has been for about 10 years.  I suppose I should get that looked into, but the code is the gas cap code, and I am tired of buying new ones.

For the most part, it's been a good friend.  Mechanical friend that only let me down once.  Ironically at that self same intersection, the clutch master cylinder failed on me.  I limped to a dealer and they did repair the clutch.  I told the advisor what was wrong, and after a week they found the part and replaced it.  It's been good ever since.

I pulled in and the service advisor said "we don't have a loaner or a driver for you".  I had just come south from the park and a workout.  Pointing at the bike on the back of the Jeep I just said "You are only 6 miles/10K from my house and I just finished a marathon, a little bit more will be fine".  It was the look of astonishment from all the service advisors that convinced me that remaining in shape all these years and being able to ride 38 miles in one day on a bike was well worth it.

Yes, that old dusty Jeep is a friend.  A good ride.  They don't make them like this any more.  They got big just like every other car on the road.  They are transitioning to hybrid which would be nice.  That 16 MPG is tough to take but I have been told to hold onto my old boy.

I do talk about it like a cowboy talks about his horse.  Funny thing about all that.  I see a lot of cars on the road but nothing really catches my eye.  Prices have tripled and quadrupled.  But I still have my old Jeep and I'm comfortable in it.  Nice not to have a car payment for the last 20 years.

I may even be convinced to take it in for service to have that gas cap code looked at.  I know what has to be done and I am not finding the idea of lowering a gas tank for an inspection to be attractive in my own carport.

More than I would like to attack.  I did replace the stereo more than once and made a bezel and a mount for the speaker out of a laundry detergent bucket.  I am still picking up bits of blue plastic in my kitchen that flew off the Dremel from that day.

Better to make your own microplastic waste than absorb it from the environment I guess!

If I can find a truly good mechanic who knows old cars, I may be able to relax enough to trust my old friend to.

I've never tried sarcasm. How does it work?

I do try my best to keep things G Rated.  I will say that if a pre-teen were to hear this one, they'd be confused and have to "Come back in a few years". 

But the language is rather clean at least.  You be the judge.




 Meeting a new neighbor

A guy moves into a new apartment in New York and heads to the lobby to put his name on the mailbox.

As he’s doing so, a stunning young woman steps out of the apartment next to the mailboxes, wearing nothing but a robe.

She flashes him a warm smile and strikes up a conversation. As they chat, her robe slowly slips open, revealing that she’s wearing absolutely nothing underneath.

The poor guy starts sweating bullets, struggling to keep eye contact.

After a few minutes, she gently places a hand on his arm and whispers, “Let’s go inside—I hear someone coming…”

Without hesitation, he follows her into the apartment. She closes the door, leans against it, and with a sultry look, lets the robe fall completely open.

“Tell me,” she purrs, “what would you say is my best feature?”

The guy, now a nervous wreck, stammers, clears his throat, and finally blurts out, “Uh… your ears!”

She looks absolutely baffled. “My ears?! Look at these boobs—perky, natural, no sag! My butt? Firm, flawless, zero cellulite! My skin? Perfect, no blemishes! Out of everything, WHY would you say my ears?!”

Still flustered, he clears his throat again and mutters, “Because… when you said you heard someone coming… that was me.”

Muffins spelled backwards are exactly what you do when you take them from the oven.

 Hmmm Maybe I need to make some of those muffins today.  15.25 oz of cake mix and a 12 ounce can of soda make cupcakes.  Bake at 350 until toothpick comes out clean, about 8-10 minutes.




A Cowboy gets captured by a tribe of Indians.

The chief comes to the cowboy and says “We mean to kill you in three days, but you get one wish a day and if we can fulfill it we will, so go ahead and ask for your first wish.”

The cowboy seems indifferent and grumbles “I wanna talk to my horse.” So they bring his horse to him and he whispers something in the horse’s ear.

The horse runs off and an hour later comes back with a beautiful brunette on its back. She jumps into the tent with the cowboy and leaves come morning.

The next morning the chief asks him for his second wish, the cowboy again says “Let me talk to my horse.”

They grant it and once he whispers in the horse’s ear it speeds off and comes back three hours later with a gorgeous blonde that jumps into the tent with the cowboy. Once again she’s gone by morning.

The next morning the chief says “Alright this is it Cowboy, what’s your final wish?” The cow boy is sweating and shaking at this point but once again asks to talk to his horse.

This time the cowboy grabs his horse by the ears and looks it dead in its eyes and says loud and slow “ POSSE, P-O-S-S-E, BRING ME A POSSE.”

I Guess I Can Call It My Mutt Pizza

I know someone who goes to London, frequently.  He is aghast at what they call pizza over there.  His description was Jarred Spaghetti Sauce with Cheddar Cheese.

No, Really.  It sounds like an abomination.

Mind you if you try to serve me Pineapple Pizza, you will wear it.  I am flexible but it needs to taste right.  Pineapple belongs in an upside down cake.  Period.  Or perhaps on a different dessert.  Keep that dreck to yourself.

When I moved here to Florida, I was struck by how mediocre the pizza was.  Think sauce from a can and flavorless cheese.

I set on a path that allowed me to develop a recipe that my Italian Mother would be proud of.  It tastes like a 1970s Pizza Shop sauce.  The kind of place you walk in and see a giant vat of the stuff reducing on a slow flame on the stove.

Remember to add the spices when you take it off the heat.  You want the punch of oregano to shine through.

Today I came home from a marathon on the bike.  That seems to be my normal workout at this point.  Today was 28.02 miles - I was close and made sure to round out the distance.  After two hours, and getting hit by some light rain, and I wanted the pizza.

This thing's crust is not so very good.  It is a large tortilla.  Sure, it saves me about 300 calories but it is kind of soulless and I describe it as an "Italian Quesadilla".  Nothing against Mexican cuisine, I love and respect that and this mashup is strange.

I was in a rush so it has its place.

I did want to use up some of the oddball ingredients I had on hand.  The Mozzarella I had ready was only about half of what I needed so I got "creative".  Adding in the main flavor of the Parmesan would help this effort greatly. 

Still I was short.  I remembered the discussions of the British Pizza.  If we want to laugh, we look at each other and say "Cheddar Pizza" and cringe. 

At this point I realized either thaw out some more Mozzarella or get the Cheddar.  It's a good Cheddar, I equivocated, but it is still a cheddar.  It also was on the "old side" and I had cut out all the "spots".  It needed to be used up.

Ok, admittedly, all the ingredients were weird, let's make a pizza out of these bastard ingredients.  I cook to get a flavor profile as well as a balanced amount of protein with a specific calorie count.  That meant that in order to make the pizza 1000 calories, I needed 5 ounces of cheese total.  I ended up putting a mix together of 1 ounce of rather good sharp Parmesan, 2.5 ounces each of Mozzarella and Extra Sharp Cheddar.

Assembling the pie or quesadilla, I poured a glass of Chardonnay.  Taking a sniff of that glass, I realized it was for cooking.  We made Beef Stroganoff and it put the "Ordinaire" in the term "Vin Ordinaire".  Not great stuff.

Somehow the combination of that wine and the strange pizza worked well together.

I guess the moral of the story is not to be so rigid.  If you have to use Cheddar, it isn't the end of the world, just make sure that you have a strong sauce, and that the Cheddar is Extra Sharp.  Having it be the minority cheese in a mix won't ruin a pizza, it will pass if you are caught up short.

And a glass of Ordinary Wine never hurt anyone.

I don't advertise my lip reading business. It's all word of mouth.

Be safe out there.  I'm going to blow off some steam and go carve some large circles around a gasbag.  





 Two lumberjacks, Bill and Frank, are out in the forest cutting down trees.

Not paying attention, Frank gets too close to the saw and gets his arm cut off. In a mad scramble, Bill wraps Frank’s arm in plastic, and rushes his dismembered friend to the hospital.

He goes to visit Frank the next day, and to his amazement finds him back in tact, playing ping pong in the physical therapy area.

A few days later the men are back in the woods, cutting down trees. This time, Frank loses his leg after again getting too close to the saw. Just like the last time, Bill wraps his friend’s leg in plastic and rushes him back to the hospital.

He goes to visit Frank the next day, and this time to his amazement finds Frank in the physical therapy area, all in one piece, running on the treadmill.

A few days later, the pair are back in the woods, sawing down trees. This time, Frank gets too close to the saw and gets decapitated. Bill, now an old pro at this, wraps his friend’s head in plastic and rushes him to the hospital.

He goes to visit Frank at the hospital the next day, only to find out that his friend didn’t make it. Distraught, he asked the doctor what happened.

“Well,” the doctor said, “your friend would have made a full recovery, if some idiot hadn’t wrapped his head in a plastic bag.”

Cassette tapes had an A side and a B side, so it makes sense that their successor would be the CD.

I have to say that while I am not terribly fond of this kind of story, the punch line made me laugh loud enough to make the dog look up at me wondering why I lost my mind.





An Englishman, Scotsman and Irishman are all working on a construction site, building a new skyscraper in London. It's lunchtime and they're all sat atop the building. the Englishman opens up his lunchbox to see what his wife has packed him.

"Ugh... Ham and cheese sandwich... again. I'm sick of ham and cheese sandwiches, it's the same every bloody day. If I get another ham and cheese sandwich in my lunch box tomorrow I'm jumping off the top of this building."

Next, the Scotsman opens up his lunch box.

"Aackk, jam sandwich... again. I cannee go on like this eating jam sandwiches every day of me life! If I get the same again tomorrow I'm jumping as well."

Next it's the Irishman's turn.

"Ohh for fecks sake! Not another egg and cress sandwich! That's the fourth one in a row this week! I'm with you boys, one more egg and cress sandwich and I'm jumping!"

So next day they sit at the top of the building to have lunch. One by one they open up their lunch boxes... The Englishman finds another ham and cheese sandwich, so off he jumps, and splats into the ground below. The Scotsman finds another jam sandwich... Off he goes...Splat. The Irishman, egg and cress sandwich... Splat.

A week or so later later the three widows are talking at the memorial service. The English widow says, through tears, "I still can't believe it, had no idea George hated ham and cheese so much, if only I'd known..."

The Scottish widow says "Duncan did say he was getting a bit bored with Jam, but I didn't realise he hated it that much, I just wish he'd have let me know how he really felt."

The Irish widow says "I... I just don't understand... Paddy packed his own lunch."

Air Fryer Brownies? Here is the recipe!

 

Everything was new once.  I once microwaved a chicken.  It actually came out well done but I can't say I would do it again.

I once had a Curry Chicken recipe that I really would love to find for that same microwave again but this was a time long past and a lost recipe.

Every new cooking fad has a peak.  The Air Fryer is having its moment right now and I find it to be amazing.

Worse comes to worse, this will bake well in the conventional oven, same time and temp.

Anything frozen, chicken parts both thawed and frozen, pork parts, fish sticks and fillets.  All have come out wonderful and wholesome.

This is an online recipe that I shamelessly stole.  The "pan" is my silicone liner that I oiled and poured the batter into.

Note:  I measured everything with a gram scale.  I have one and it works well, however typically volumes are used.  Maybe next time, huh?

I followed the recipe below faithfully and got some wonderful treats.  It fell together in about 10 minutes.  Cooked in 15.

Whenever you cook in an air fryer, I find that I have to check frequently and make sure the internal temp comes up to the correct level for meats.  I used a toothpick for the brownies and we have enjoyed them.

They. Were. Excellent!

Ingredients:

• 1/3 cup (42 grams) whole wheat flour or all-purpose flour
• 1/4 cup (29 grams) Dutch-process cocoa powder (sifted if needed)
• 1/16 teaspoon salt (nobody has one of those, I eyeballed "half" of a 1/8 tsp)
• 1/4 cup plus 2 teaspoons (65 grams) coconut oil or unsalted butter (melted and slightly cooled)
• 1/2 cup (100 grams) granulated sugar or coconut sugar
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1 large egg (about 50 grams, out of shell)
• 1/4 cup (43 grams) chocolate chips, plus extra mini chips for the top

How to make them:

1. Prep your pan: Line a small cake pan or air fryer-safe dish with parchment paper.
2. Mix the dry ingredients: In a bowl, combine the flour, cocoa powder, and salt. Set aside.
3. Mix the wet ingredients: In a separate bowl, stir together the melted coconut oil or butter with the sugar and vanilla.
4. Once blended, mix in the egg until just combined.
5. Combine everything: Add the dry mix to the wet bowl a little at a time. Stir gently until almost no flour is visible. Fold in the chocolate chips.
6. Preheat the air fryer: Set it to 340°F (170°C).
7. Pour and top: Transfer the batter into your prepared pan. Sprinkle mini chocolate chips on top for extra gooeyness.
8. Air fry Cook in the air fryer for 14 to 20 minutes. The top should look set with a thin crust.
9. A toothpick in the center will come out a bit wet. The edges should have soft crumbs.
10. Cool before serving: Let them cool completely in the pan. They’ll continue to firm up as they sit.

If you give these a try, let us know how they turn out. They're dangerously easy to make.

In order to have a murder of Crows, there must be probable Caws.

 Oh!  Yeah!  Blog!  Just getting ready to go to the park and bike a marathon.  I realized that I need to stop playing with sprinkler heads and listening to the news on CBC/BBC and get to it!

When I get there, I'll say CAW! to the crows, Roar! at the iguanas, and try to avoid the ducks that are damnably everywhere.

On Yer Left!

Meanwhile, I have been seeing this discussion on social media way too often and I see it this way.





A guy was talking to his neighbor over the fence. “I mowed the lawn the other day, and after doing so I sat down and had a cold beer. The day was really quite beautiful, and the drink facilitated some deep thinking.

My wife walked by and asked me what I was doing, and I said, "Nothing."

The reason I said "nothing" instead of saying "just thinking" is because she then would have asked, "About what?"

At that moment, I would have needed to clarify that men ponder deeply on diverse subjects, sparking further inquiries.

Finally I pondered an age old question: Is giving birth more painful than getting kicked in the nuts?

Women always maintain that giving birth is way more painful than a guy getting kicked in the nuts, but how could they know?

Well, after another beer, and some more heavy deductive thinking, I have come up with an answer to that question.

Getting kicked in the nuts is more painful than having a baby, and even though I obviously couldn't really know, here is the reason for my conclusion:

A year or so after giving birth, a woman will often say, "It might be nice to have another child."

But you never hear a guy say, "You know, I think I would like another kick in the nuts."

I went to the fridge and I saw one of my vegetables crying. I guess I have some emotional cabbage.

 Of course yesterday, walking through a specialty market I grabbed two half-pound bars of chocolate.  I had one at home but forgot.  I was told that and told that I had "too much chocolate".

Have you ever heard something that silly?  Too much chocolate?  I am aghast!





 I invited my boss and her husband over for dinner and while we were eating she asked my son, Little Johnny, what he learned about in school that day.

I said that we usually play a "four clues" game where we have to guess and she thought that would be fun.

So Johnny gave his first clue: It's kind of round and covered with hair.

That didn't narrow it down much so he went to his second clue: It can be full of juice that you can access through a crack.

Nobody had an idea yet, though knowing Johnny I was starting to get anxious. He gave his third clue: When mommy and daddy were unpacking and changing from a day at the beach I peeked into their room and saw that mommy had one and daddy didn't.

Still no guesses from anyone but I was starting to panic. Johnny gave his final clue: It contains the letters C, N, T, and U.

My wife saved my career when she quickly blurted out COCONUT!

The Monarch Cage - So I Can Get Milkweed Seeds

 Sorry Monarch Mommas.  This one is for me. 

Your last batch of kids came through and ate every one of my milkweed plants.  One had gotten to the flowering stage. 

They even found the plants in the backyard and scattered within my other pots.

So this time, I got bold.

I built a cage for the Milkweed plants.  In this case, I am waiting to see if the plants become plants or are they just a goner. 

I built a box out of Hardware Cloth to surround the pot that I have on my porch.  30 inches tall and about that wide.  I did not measure anything.  It was too hot on the porch.  This is South Florida after all.

Then I covered the box with the leftover Hardware Cloth so that it had a sturdy "roof".

There are many other milkweed pots on the property.  Your children are welcome to those.  Just not this one pot.  Once I get some plants going, I will transplant them into accessible spots and you can have at them again.

I enjoy seeing the monarchs here.  I just need a little bit of milkweed for myself.

For the record it would be 30 inches tall, 30 wide, and about 20 deep.  About.  I did not measure anything.

Now go visit the backyard.  There is plenty of food out there!

Have you ever seen fruit preserves being made? It's jarring.

 Actually, yes, I have.  I generally get enough "windfall" fruit each year to fill the freezer and make enough Fruit Preserves to last the year. 

This year, no.  The mango crop is very low this year.  I haven't been getting enough to justify making jam so I have been eating the fruit.  My own tree may give me just enough for one batch but that is doubtful.




 A visit in the bedroom

After a night of drinking, Brian crept into bed beside his wife who was already asleep. He gave her a peck on the cheek and fell asleep.

When he awoke, he found a strange man standing at the end of his bed wearing a long flowing white robe. "Who the hell are you?" demanded Brian, "and what are you doing in my bedroom?"

The mysterious Man answered "This isn't your bedroom and I'm St. Peter."

Brian was stunned "You mean I'm dead!? That can't be; I have so much to live for. I haven't said goodbye to my family and friends. You've got to send me back straight away."

St. Peter replied " Yes, you can be reincarnated but there is a catch. We can only send you back as a dog or a hen."

Brian was devasted, but knowing there was a farm not far from his house, he asked to be sent back as a hen. A flash of light later, he was covered in feathers and clucking around pecking the ground.

This isn't so bad he thought, until he felt this strange feeling welling up inside him.

The farmyard rooster strolled over and said "So you are the new hen. How are you enjoying your first day here? "

"It's not so bad" replies Brian " but I have this strange feeling inside like I'm about to explode."

"You’re ovulating" explained the rooster, "don't tell me you've never laid an egg before."

"Never" replies Brian.

"Well just relax and let it happen."

And so he did and after a few uncomfortable seconds later, an egg pops out from under his tail.

An immense feeling of relief swept over him and his emotions got the better of him as he experienced motherhood for the first time.

When he laid his second egg, the feeling of happiness was overwhelming and he knew that being reincarnated as a hen was the best thing that had happened to him ever!

The joy kept coming and as he was just about to lay his third egg he felt an enormous smack on the back of his head and heard his wife shouting ...

"Brian, wake up you drunken bastard, you're pooping in the bed".

What do you call a dog that can do magic tricks? A Labracadabrador

I'm thinking that while I carbo and Caffeine load, it's time to get up and become a jock once again.  

Or maybe life is more simple than that. 




 The note

Auld Jock had been a religious man all his life.

When rushed into hospital his family called a preacher to stand with them. As the preacher stood next to the bed, Jock's condition appeared to worsen and he motioned frantically for something to write on.

He was lovingly handed a pen and paper and Jock used his last gasp of energy to scribble a note which he handed to the preacher and then he died.

The preacher thought it best not to look at the note at the time and placed it in his jacket pocket.

At the funeral, as he was finishing his eulogy he realised that he was wearing the same jacket as he had at the hospital.

He said "You know, Auld Jock handed me a wee note just before he died. I haven't read it yet, but knowing Auld Jock I'm sure there's a word of inspiration there for us all"

He opened the note and read out loud "Hi minister. Yer staundin oan ma oxygen"

Monarch Butterflies, we have to talk. You are eating yourself out of house and home.

I was happy with my little farm.  I was planting milkweed cuttings all over my property.  In existing pots, new pots, and in the garden.  I needed the seeds for bio-diversity.

I had some plants that were growing quite well.  One of the plants was waist high and I have a 35 inch inseam.  

Did you catch the "was" there?

My front window faces out to the porch and I have a recliner and rocker in that window.  It lets me see the world when I am not working out.  It is overstuffed and I can lounge around when I am in it, like now.

I need to rest frequently because I am an athlete.  You tell me if I am using the right word, three marathons on the bike per week.  First sprint is usually just over a half marathon at a 14 MPH average.  Then water stop and repeat.

So my sport watch yells at me that I am doing too much and PAI numbers are averaging in the high 200s.  It's a measure of activity, just like a resting heart rate of 52 is a measure of fitness.

Enough bragging, back to the butterflies.

I am about a block from a small park.  M.E. DePalma Park.  That is where I got the first seeds for the Mexican Milkweed that you little critters love so much.  I got them about 15 years ago and have been propagating them ever since.  I stuff some plants under other plants and take cuttings frequently.

Mrs Monarch, this is where you came into play.  You see I was just about ready to get some seeds when you found these plants.  Two days later I started seeing holes in the leaves, two more days and I had stumps in my pots. 

Yes, you.  You put your eggs on my plants left and right and center.  You and all your flutterby friends.  Swallowtail and Zebra Wing, all of you came by and visited my porch.  At one point there were enough of you on my porch that I thought I was looking at a holding pattern in a large airport.

Of course I know what that looks like, I bike at an airport in Pompano Beach, and I once rode a motorcycle up the New Jersey Turnpike past the Newark NJ Airport.  I know what a holding pattern looks like.

Then your children did what they do and ate my plants away.

Yes, I know, I grow them for that purpose and your children were hungry.  But every plant is now gone.

Now, don't apologize.  You did what you had to.  But I had about 50 plants and now they are all gone.  There are 12 in that one pot alone!

So I have to build a cage.  You won't get in this thing.  I have hardware cloth and I know how to use it.

Don't apologize, I am bound and determined to get something past the sticks!

Just keep your pretty orange and black wings and your eggs to yourself.   If I have to be a farmer I have to do it outside.  If I told you what the ants do to plants indoors here in South Florida, you would be deeply offended!

Real Bakers use Butter so there is no Margarine for error.

 I mean while we are quoting this kind of pithy thing, I usually say "Real Jeeps have two doors" but that isn't funny, is it.

Doesn't matter, I have my duck.


I can remember doing a year's worth of algebra in high school in three months because I was bored.  So the basis of this is in math(s).  Lots of math(s).





 Four friends were catching up over drinks at the annual Big Conference for Mathematics.

The conversation eventually got around to their significant others. Artie said, “When we got together at last year’s conference I was dating Katie, but she became so integral to my life that we’re now in a civil union.”

Bob said, “My relationship with Betty is almost perfect. But since we’re both in the prime of our lives there’s no rush to tie the knot.”

Chuck added, “I wish I were as lucky as you two. I told you that last year Melba was kind of odd, but she’s become so irrational that we’re dividing our things and splitting up.” The others nodded their heads in sympathy because partitioning is often difficult.

Dave then chimed in, “Your love lives are so complex. No issues at all between Annie and me.” After an awkward silence Artie sighed and said, “Dave, that’s because she’s imaginary.”

Thank you for contacting the Abyss. Your scream is very important to us!

I am not particularly comfortable with hunting.  I prefer to leave deer in the forest and not wrecking my Jeep.  Once I was inline skating in Valley Forge National Park on the Schuylkill River Trail and there was a large buck standing right there on the trail.  He seemed as amused by me as I was of him.  So I started skating.  He decided that he'd come along for the ride for a while and trotted along side me until I came to a clearing. 

Pennsylvania is like that.  It was after rutting season so I didn't give it a second thought but ... well yes, it was foolhardy.




 Hunting trip

Three firefighters, – a rookie, a captain and a chief – went on a hunting trip. After their first night, the weather was miserable and they hadn't seen any deer all day.

Finally they came across an old shack and went inside to play poker.

After losing a couple of hands the rookie threw down his cards and said “I’m going out to get me a deer."

Fifteen minutes later the rookie came back with a four point buck. The captain asked, "How did you manage that?"

The rookie replied, "I walked out fifty feet, followed some tracks and shot this buck."

The captain then said, "I've had enough of this. I’m going to get my deer."

He came back a half hour later with a 6 point buck. The chief asked, "How did you manage that?"

The captain replied, "I walked out a hundred feet or so, followed some tracks and shot this buck."

The chief. not wanting to be outdone, said, "I'm out of here, I'm going to bag the biggest buck of the day."

He came back an hour later, all mangled and bloody.

The rookie asked, "What happened to you?"

The chief replied, "I walked out five hundred feet, followed some tracks and got hit by a TRAIN!”

Begging Dog, Carbo-loading, and Avoiding Runner's Trots

I live a rather regimented life.  

I have been working out steadily since I became of legal age, and now that I have retired rather early, workouts are a great way to keep sane.

By workouts, I mean endurance workouts.  Two hours of (relatively) high speed on a bike or inline skates.  Mind you, according to my heart monitor and sports watch, an hour on skates is worth an hour and a half on a bike.

Just in case you are keeping score, and I do keep score.  I have a Career Goal of skating the equivalent of once around the world at the equator.  That's another 360 miles by my estimates.

So after all these years of "suiting up" and "getting to the park", I have a routine.  It really is a collection of routines since it depends on which sport, what the weather is, and what I feel like doing that day.

Since I can easily burn more than 2000 calories in one go, I have to fuel up before I go.  In the case of this particular morning, I am making oatmeal.  It is (still) fairly cheap, and I can get bulk amounts of it delivered to the door.

The problem with oatmeal is that while there is protein per serving, it is low for my needs.  1g protein per Kg of ideal body weight - or in my case that's 88g per day.  I have to pack more into that bowl, but I have to do so in a low fat way.

If you don't go low fat before an endurance workout, you had better make sure that you can get to the rest stop when you need it.  The body will process the fat in your meal in an unfortunate way, and your guts will need that toilet and insist that you go NOW.  

I'm trying to be gentle with the descriptions here for "All Audiences" but if you do get too much fat in your meal, you will have a "Blow-Out".

Nutrition is important in life.  I'll just leave that here.

Anyway, so I go into the kitchen for my pre-athletics carbo-load right after the dog walk.  If I time it right, I can get to the park, get the workout in, and get back to the house in time for lunch.  Then I can have whatever I want and not worry about whether someone else is in the park's lavatory when I need it.

Reach for the bowl and the gram scale.  Yes, I have a collection of electronic scales, why would you expect anything less?  Placing the bowl on the scale, I spoon out 41g (1.4 oz) of oats.  14g (half tablespoon, half ounce) of Peanut Butter.

I'm chancing that peanut butter.  It's higher fat than I should be having before 2 hours on the bike but I can do it, just.

Now 20g of homemade jelly.  I'm at the end of last year's mango jelly so I will shift to the store bought until I can harvest and make more.  Cherry Jelly is a nice change of pace, isn't it?

80g of milk on top, and microwave the lot.

At this time I have to reach into the refrigerator and that is when I hear Rack the McNab SuperDog (TM) Stand, Stretch, and Shake.

I get the yogurt out of the refrigerator and begin to spoon 100g of unsweetened yogurt on top.  That gives me a total of about 25g of protein and with the two bananas I had earlier, I'm at my minimum of 600 calories for breakfast.

Don't want to be too full do I?

I turn around and notice I have two brown eyed lasers pointed at me.  Rack wants his share of yogurt.

I have to ask, What is it about yogurt and peanut butter that dogs love?  I mean chill, dog, chill!

He steps into the kitchen.  "Hi Rack, I know what you want!".

I get wags.  I get dog smiles.

I finish spooning my own yogurt, and get a tablespoon of the stuff for the dog.  He's older and is on a protein restricted diet for his kidney health.  He's almost 14 years old and he won't be around too many more years.  I am at better than competent at making recipes and nutrition, so I am aggressively managing his diet as well as mine.

Walking over to his bowl he is crowding me out.  I whack the spoon on the side of the bowl to give him some of the white sticky goo that he so wants, and he is already muzzle in to the bowl.  He only does this for Yogurt!  He doesn't even do this for his normal food.

Luckily he "isn't a Lab" so I can keep food on the counter.  

Weirdly, at his age, he is having "Selective Hearing Problems".  Some days he is deaf.  Others he can hear a pin drop.  Or more specifically, he can hear the click of pealing back the lid on the yogurt container.  From the living room.  Behind the cushions and the chairs.  Over the clocks and fans in the house.

Get it?  It's kind of loud in this place and his hearing is not the best.

So with an old dog, I am trying to rush my way out to the air park.  I need to go do large lazy circles around a giant gas bag and avoid obstacles.  It's where the Goodyear Blimp is headquartered here and there is a 4.5 mile course that calls my name.

As soon as I finish my "Peanut Butter and Jelly Oatmeal" I'll grab the mid workout snacks to try to defeat The Wall, and I'll be on my way.

Rack has gotten his fill of yogurt and walked to his station in front of the door so he can watch over the world.

Me?  I'll get my fill of the oatmeal, and get on my way.

Oh and "On Yer Left!".  Keep right, except to pass!  Thankyouverymuch!

I started a band called ‘Duvet.’ All we play are covers.

I am extremely active.  For my age bracket I am well over two standard deviations more active than I really should be.  I'm sitting here sipping a rather excellent Guatemalan coffee I roasted so I can have a caffeine boost to do a marathon on the bike in 24 MPH peak winds.

But Pro Sports I simply do not get.  It isn't sports, it is entertainment.  I get that but sitting in a hot sweaty stadium for three hours and paying for the opportunity to do so? 

No thank you.

But these guys?





   Bob & John love playing baseball, Bob is a catcher & John is a pitcher one day they have the following conversation:

Bob says, “I was just wondering if there is baseball in Heaven.”

John replies, “I sure hope they do because it would be hell not being able to play it for all eternity!”

“I know right! Tell you what, if one of us dies before the other, then we need to somehow let the other one know if there is.”

“Sounds like a plan!”

Bob dies a few years later in a car crash & a couple of days after that John has a dream where Bob visits him and tells him,

“I have good news & bad news. The good news is that they DO play baseball in Heaven and, man, they have some of the best games! All the legends play, Ruth, Robinson, Gehrig, everybody in the Hall of Fame plays but your skill level doesn’t matter because who cares if we win or lose, we’re just playing a game that we love!”

John says, “That sounds awesome! But what’s the bad news?”

“You’re scheduled to pitch next week.”

I once dated a Magazine Collector. She had Issues.

I suspect it is all about how you see things, right?



Master, Why Am I Not Improving?

A Kung Fu student asks his teacher, "Master, why does my ability not improve? I'm always defeated."

And the master, pensive and forever patient, answers, "My dear pupil, have you seen the gulls flying by the setting sun and their wings seeming like flames?"

"Yes, my master, I have."

"And a waterfall, spilling mightily over the stones without taking anything out of its proper place?"

"Yes, my master, I have witnessed it."

"And the moon, when it touches the calm water to reflect all its enormous beauty?"

"Yes, my master, I have also seen this marvelous phenomenon."

"That is the problem. You keep watching all this instead of training."

Old Style Pizza Sauce - Like Back In The Day, Youse Know?

How about an Old Style Pizza at home?
I mean with a real, (mostly) naturally sweet sauce.  You know from a Pizza Parlor "down the way" that has a giant pot of the sauce perfuming the neighborhood as you get closer to it?

You may not have had one since the 1970s, but this sauce is it.  It's exactly how I remember it.


No this pizza sauce is not Vegan.
It is not Vegetarian.

It can be made either way, but while good, it won't be quite the same.


I take a cue from Mom here, and I get a pound of Stew Beef and brown it in the pot before we start this sauce.  Then add the ingredients to the pot and reduce. 

I have not tried it with meatballs but the flavor will be similar.  Just brown the meatballs and let the sauce cook it.

You will end up with some Braciole once you scoop it out, and if you have some extra sharp Provolone and some Amoroso Rolls, you are now having one of my favorite sandwiches from childhood.  Kaiser or a Hard Roll will work, as will Linguica or a Cuban Roll.

The recipe has Anchovies in it. You can leave that out but I would strongly suggest preparing it as is.  You will want that "Umami Bomb".



Ingredients:

• 1 can San Marzano tomatoes (28 oz)
• Half 24 oz bottle tomato passata (or strained Roma tomatoes)
• 1/4 tsp pepper
• Less then 1/8th red pepper flakes
• 1 Tablespoon olive oil
• Three anchovies rinsed and patted dry
• 1 Tsp salt

Ingredients at the end:

• 2 Tsp oregano
• Tsp basil
• 1 tsp sugar

Process:

• Process anchovies and can of tomato’s in food processor or blender until smooth.
• Add to pan with passata, salt, pepper and pepper flakes.
• Rinse out tomato can with minimal water and dump water into pan - the object is to get the tomatoes out of the can so you don't have to boil a LOT of water down in reduction.
• Reduce for hours low and slow simmer until thick and will cut with the wooden spoon in the pan.
• After you remove from heat, add oregano, basil and sugar and stir in.  
• Let cool and store.

What do you call a belt made of 100 dollar bills? A Waist of money.

Having done some rather edgy things on my various vehicles in the New Jersey Pine Barrens, I suppose that this is plausible.  I have never had that sort of an encounter with a Deer, but they are more common than stray dogs in parts of that area.



 Motor Bike Accident

While riding my motorbike, I swerved to avoid hitting a deer, lost control and landed in a ditch, severely banging my head.

Dazed and confused I crawled out of the ditch to the edge of the road when a shiny new convertible pulled up with a gorgeous woman who asked, "Are you okay?"

As I looked up, I noticed she was wearing a low-cut blouse with cleavage to die for..., "I'm okay I think," I replied as I pulled myself up to the side of the car to get a closer look."

She said, "Get in and I'll take you home, so I can clean and bandage that nasty scrape on your head."

"That's nice of you," I answered, "but I don't think my wife will like me doing that!"

"Oh, come now, I'm a nurse," she insisted. "I need to see if you have any more scrapes and then treat them properly."

Well, she was pretty and very persuasive. Being sort of shaken and weak, I agreed, but repeated, "I'm sure my wife won't like this."

We arrived at her place just a few miles away and, after a couple of cold beers and the bandaging, I thanked her and said, "I feel a lot better, but I know my wife is going to be upset so I'd better go now."

"Don't be silly!" she said with a smile. "Stay for a while. She won't know anything. By the way, where is she?"

"Still in the ditch with the motorbike, I guess."

If money doesn't grow on trees, why do banks have branches?

Since I am going to a high end restaurant tonight, if we can get reservations, I thought it might be worth a story.

Mai Kai, a one of a kind Polynesian Restaurant.  If I remember to take pics, I'll put them up here later.




  Man goes to a restaurant

The restaurant itself is super high-end, upper class. Waits for a while before he gets his table.

He waves for the waiter and asks for the specials. The waiter says, "We make the best steaks in town". The man is skeptical of the statement, and wants to test the outrageous claim and orders their "Steak".

"It is taking forever for the order to arrive but that is expected for the 'best steak in town'", thinks the man while he smirks.

But it does arrive all fancy, all buttered and saucy with some mashed potatoes and gravy on the side.

He is amazed at the quality of the steak and barely has any thoughts processing. He gobbles up the whole thing in less than 7 minutes and calls the waiter.

"I need to talk to the chef", he says.

The waiter talks to the chef and brings him to the table.

The man goes on and on about how good the steak was and the chef politely nods in acknowledgment.

"This is quite literally the best steak I've had in this town. Well done!"

The chef looks confused and says, "Medium rare".

North American Battle Wagons, or Honey, You Shrunk The Jeep

 I have been driving Jeeps for the majority of my "career".  I have been driving Jeep Wrangler TJ since 1996 without a stop.

This is my second TJ.  They are now getting thin on the ground, so I don't say "Oh Look!  A Parts Car!" as frequently as I did when I saw one. 

I still do the Jeep Wave, and I always would Tread Lightly when I was off road.  I haven't gone off road since moving to Florida in 2006 so he's been a Pavement Prince since then.

The thing is that when I got my first Jeep, a CJ7 back in 1984, I noticed that it was much higher than most cars on the road.  I used to be amused looking down into cars and seeing the goings on in there.

You folks are nuts!  All sorts of things happened!  I was immediately taught that if I could see down, so could the truck drivers in a "Big Rig" so I made sure not to do anything "untowards" in my own cars from that point on.

Then I went back to "regular cars" until my first and second Wranglers.  I noticed that I was above the majority of cars, but not as much as before.  So much so that it was a surprise when I saw someone enjoying the driver of the car ... from the passenger seat.

Wink! Wink! Say No More!

But that visual advantage was disappearing.  As time went on, I became "regular sized" if not a bit small.

Yes, a Jeep Wrangler is "average sized".  No longer, the current Jeep Wranglers have four doors and is just too big.  Bloated for me.

This was beaten home after I stopped at the end of the workout the other day.  Someone parked a wall next to me.  I fail to see why someone needs a full sized pickup truck, GMC Denali, just to get in a workout at a park.

This was the literal illustration of what I heard described as a North American Battle Wagon.  Massive.

I am 6'4" tall.  A Very Fit 193 CM, if my math is correct.  I am used to looking over things.  I tell people that I usually write my initials in the dust of their refrigerator tops when I visit.

I will wait until you check to see if I did.  Then you can clean your fridge top.  It's why mine is a "Counter Depth" and there's no gap at the top.   Saves me from cleaning!

There was no possible way I can see over the top of this truck.  In fact, standing next to it in my sneakers I was eye level with the driver's view.  Luckily the driver was on the trail getting their Beta Endorphins on.

I squeezed past this monster truck and thought to myself that I used to consider the old Toyota 4x4 trucks big when they came out in the late 1980s, and "what on earth!" would I have considered this beast when I was driving a little first generation Honda Accord in College? 

*shudder*

Getting the bike on the rack on the back, chuckling at my bumper sticker which proclaims "I workout because salads are boring", I had to squeeze past this huge beast to get in my now "Little" Jeep Wrangler.  The driver left adequate room but I am not used to not being able to look over the tops of things.  I see more bad haircuts than you may realize.

Driving home on US1, Federal Highway, in Pompano Beach and Fort Lauderdale, there was more.  It was driven home that we love huge trucks here and we are locked in an arms race of keeping up with the neighbor's beast trucks each time we upgrade.

There is a house down the block that the smallest truck that they own is what is now considered a Mid Sized truck, larger than my own Jeep.  It is about the size of a base Ford Truck that would be a Work Truck, stripper, these days.  They have so many trucks on their own suburban lot that it spills over the property line onto the neighbor's on one side, and the other side had put boulders on their side of the property line to stop them from "encroaching".

A bit drastic but I'd do the same.

So I guess my idea of getting a wee little, efficient, car is foolhardy.  I'd be a speed bump to these giant beasts in one of those.  I've done that before and thanks, I'll pass.

What's next?  Large cars are at best impractical, and at worst destroying the environment.  At one point in time, an AMC Gremlin got 18 MPG and they were advertised in the mid 1970s as being a "Fuel Saver".  I have a derivative of the same engine used in many of those cars and the 16 MPG I got in my last tank now is in no way thrifty.

The full sized pickup truck that was a loaner to a friend struggled to get 10 MPG city.  It dwarfed my own Jeep.  I know his driving patterns, he's much less "assertive" than I am on the road.

I don't know that there is a solution here, seeing the way politics are going.  At least with EVs, Hybrids, and Electrification, the efficiency of these things is getting better.  That old first generation, "Mark 1" Honda Accord I had got a reliable 30 MPG which is average in a car, low for a hybrid now.

Anything that small would be missed by one of those massive beasts coming out of a driveway.

Forget getting another Motorcycle.  My typo of "Mortal Cycle" must have been a Freudian slip due to the traffic we have here.  The woman on the scooter on the same trip home yesterday was dwarfed by my own "Little" Jeep, watching her weave in traffic had me terrified for her as she avoided one clueless huge beast after another.

I'm thinking that there really is no room for efficiency and a "tidy" rightsized car on the road any more.  Not here.  That would explain why someone commenting that "Bad Driving Has Become Normalized" makes so much sense to me. 

If they can't see you, you aren't there.

Good luck out there, I have an appointment at 1pm that I have to brave the other idiots on the road.  Trust me, if I can smell your pot smoke, that officer can as well.

And put that damn cellphone away, it's still against the law to use hands on cell phones in most jurisdictions.

As less and less people are buying into religion, Prophets are down!

 Perfect one liner for a sunday, eh?  Here's another one for you!


 
 Too much plastic surgery

In surgery for a heart attack, a middle-aged woman has a vision of God by her bedside. “Will I die?” she asks.

God says, “No. You have 30 more years to live.”

With 30 years to look forward to, she decides to make the best of it.

Since she’s in the hospital, she gets breast implants, liposuction, a tummy tuck, hair transplants, and collagen injections in her lips.

She looks great!

The day she’s discharged, she exits the hospital with a swagger, crosses the street, and is immediately hit by an ambulance and killed.

Up in heaven, she sees God. “You said I had 30 more years to live,” she complains.

“That’s true,” says God.

“So what happened?” she asks.

God shrugs. “I didn’t recognize you.”

Two cannibals were eating a clown. One asks, "Does this taste funny to you?"

 OK I actually groaned at that topic when I pasted the one liner in as a topic.  My life is turning into a dad joke!

And while I am at it, I may as well use a (groan) Blond Joke today.  Enjoy if you can!




 
 The Blond

A blonde, a brunette and a redhead are stuck on an island.

One day, the three of them are walking along the beach and discover a magic lamp.

They rub and rub, and sure enough, out pops a genie.

The genie says, “Since I can only grant three wishes, you may each have one.”

The brunette says, “I’ve been stuck here for years. I miss my family, my husband, and my life.

I just want to go home.” POOF!

The brunette gets her wish and she is returned to her family.

Then, the red head says, “I’ve been stuck here for years as well. I miss my family, my husband, and my life.

I wish I could go home too.” POOF!

The redhead gets her wish and she is returned to her family.

The blonde starts crying uncontrollably.

The genie asks, “My dear, what’s the matter?”

The blonde whimpers, “I wish my 2-friends were still here.”

Three Ingredient Pizza Crust for One Serving.

While my pizza sauce recipe tastes like I remember out of a pizza parlor of the good old days, my crusts are never that great.

Lately my crusts have been a 12 inch tortilla with all the toppings.  Kind of an Italian Quesadilla.  Sure, it lowers the calories to 1000 per pie, but it is missing "something".

When I saw a recipe promising a Three Ingredient Pizza crust, I had to try it.  I downloaded it, and followed the directions and ... Meh.  A floppy crust.

But it was fresh and I could make it in under 15 minutes.

So here ya go, it's pared down to be a single 7 inch pizza crust.  If you want a full sized pizza (12 inch or so) double this recipe.

The plus to all of this is that it is dead simple.  Hard to go wrong if you have the ingredients.

Ingredients

• 1/3 cup or 52g of All Purpose Flour
• 1/3 teaspoon (about 1.5g) of Baking Powder
• 1/3 cup of 90g of Plain Greek Yogurt.

Process

• To a mixing bowl, add the Flour and Baking Powder.
• Whisk the ingredients together.
• Fold in and mix the Greek Yogurt until it makes a dough ball.
• You may want to add a little extra Flour for the correct consistency.
• Roll the dough ball out to a crust on floured surface.

Cooking

• Preheat to medium, an appropriate skillet with a little olive oil.
• Add the rolled out crust to the skillet and cook until toasted.
• Flip and repeat until both sides are lightly brown to taste.
• Add the toppings and bake.

To the guy who sold me this cloning machine, how do you live with yourself?

When I am out and about making giant lazy squares around an airport there is a stable.  Horseys.  So today, Sunday, I have to do something else this morning instead of sitting in the chair.  I'm going to see if an old race horse can talk.



 An old race horse and a young race horse


So an old race horse is talking to a young race horse in a stable the night before the big race.

'Now, young feller' says the old racehorse, 'do you know what happens to an old horse who wins his last race?' For he was getting long in the tooth and knew that his final race would be upon him soon if not tomorrow.

'No, grandfather,' said the young horse. 'I'm not sure what happens to old race horses who win their last race.'

'Well my boy, it's wonderful. They get put out to stud in the best pastures. They eat the best food, they live a long luxurious retirement, and they get to spend time with all the loveliest young fillies.'

'That sounds wonderful, grandfather'

'Ah, but do you know what happens to an old race horse that loses his last race?'

'Well, no grandfather I don't know.'

'Well, unfortunately any old horse that loses their last race will be sent to the glue factory. They will be dismembered and never get to taste the wonderful delights that await the horse who wins his last race.'

'Oh. Oh no.' The young horse was distraught to be burdened with this news.

'So you see, my son, my young lad,' continued the old racehorse, 'Why I am asking you--neigh, I am begging you!--to please let me win the race tomorrow.'

The old racehorse barreled on: 'Let's be frank, you and I. I am old and you are young. I am facing my last race, if not tomorrow then the next day. You are young and full of piss and vinegar. I am old and worn. Everyone knows that in a straight race you will beat me.'

'That is why, young feller, please from the bottom of my heart I am begging you to let me win tomorrow so that I can go on to the good life in the pasture instead of the glue factory.'

The young horse pondered this for a long moment. Finally, he clicked his teeth and looked back at the old horse. 'I sure would love to help you Grandpa. I sure would! But the problem is, you see, if a young race horse like me loses to an old race horse like you, Well they just might go and throw me in the glue factory. I'm sure you understand it's nothing personal. It's just that, like you, I'm trying to stay out of that place. I sure wish I could help you though.'

As I'm sure you understand, the old racehorse is devastated.

But this whole time a wise old hound has been listening to the conversation. Finally, he raises his head and calls upon the young racehorse: 'Come on, give the old guy a chance, will you?'

Both horses jump! 'Holy crap!' says the younger horse. 'A talking dog!'

Thinking about how dumb you’d have to be to not notice someone living in your attic. That’s why i chose my neighbor’s house!

I do a lot of DYI.  I recently replaced the Oxygen Sensors, Fuel Rail, and Fuel Injectors on my Jeep.  I noticed some vacuum hoses were cracked so I replaced them and for extra measure, zip tied the ends for tightness.

On the other hand, my woodworking skills are much less assertive.  Power Tools are something I have a healthy respect or fear for.  I haven't decided which.




At a carpentry shop , one of the carpenters is operating a table saw.

He is watching the cut of the blade very closely, so much so that he did not notice the resinous knot in the wood, which when it hit the blade the wood kicked back into his chest and caused him to slam forward and sliced his ear. Clean off !!

He immediately shut down the saw and starts screaming and panicking ….. the foreman runs in , “ What’s going on?? OMG ! Whats all this blood ? ! “. The carpenter tells him : “ I CUT MY EAR OFF !!”

“ OMG ! Let’s help you find it ! “

Everyone pitches in , rummaging through all the piles of sawdust on the shop floor , until the Foreman finds an ear and shakes the sawdust off … and he shows it to the carpenter : “ Is this your ear? ! “

The carpenter examines it closely and says :

“ No, … mine had a pencil behind it “

My Jeep Got Ducked. So I Cycled A Marathon.

As an endurance athlete, you have time to think.  It really is logistics, whether you are going for a marathon, a couple hour walk, or skating that sixth lap around the big park.  You have to plan for the time, and you have to set your mind to achieve that goal.

When I was in Philadelphia, that big park was a long run from Independence Mall in Center City to Valley Forge.  I got into audio books and long DJ music sets and that would keep me going.

Here in South Florida, I am fortunate to have access to a data plan that is unlimited so I can fill my head with any media I can find.  I found a "Classic Dance" station in Puerto Rico that plays music in English, mostly.  Which is fine because my Spanish is merely "Intermediate".  B2 perhaps.  Puedo entenderte si hablaste lentemente. ¿Si?

I was chugging around the big park, a 4.6 mile loop around the Pompano Air Park watching them cart the Goodyear Blimp out of the hangar and have it just sit in the sun to acclimate. 

Lap 1 was easy.

Lap 2 was easy.

Lap 3 I was slowing noticeably and needed a water stop.  Music had stopped playing for some weird reason so at a half-marathon, I thought it was a good time for a rest.

The Jeep was under a tree, and I knew I had water on the bike with me.  But that snack I hid under the front seat was calling my name and I know I had peaked.  I was hitting the wall and "Mr Announcer" on Runkeeper had said that I was over an hour and at 13 plus miles.

I rolled close to the car and spotted a blue dot.

That blue dot grew to become a little plastic duck.

Finally! I had gotten Ducked! 

I have been driving Jeep Wranglers since 1996 and I had a CJ 7 back in the mid 1980s.  

This Duck Thing is new.  I remember that it was something that came out of Canada as a "Fun thing to do" for other Jeepers.  Of course, it's Wholesome, and it is Nice.  Of course, it comes from Canada. 

I guess I qualify as a Jeeper, having had three of the inefficient things.  They have the aerodynamics of a cow.  Moo-ve out of my way, I can push you if you need help keeping up with traffic.

I roll up on the bike and immediately get a big smile on my face.  Looking at the little blue artifact, I am jumping up and down in the parking lot under the tree.  All 6'4" and 194 pounds of me dressed in a uniform of colorful and sweaty "technical fabrics" cheering like a kid. 

Yep, it's fun!  Having gotten my first ducking.

I guess it is my time.  I have had this car since 2002 and Jeep Wrangler TJs are getting thin on the ground.  By that measure, it's a special car now, a standout, and a survivor.

The ducking says, I noticed you and appreciate your Jeep. 

Yes, It's a Jeep Thing and you wouldn't understand.  Other (ahem) "lesser" types of vehicles have their own fan club and their own ways of honoring them.

I put the little blue critter on my dashboard where it is now, and there it will stay.

I finished my snack, and my water stop.  It was time to get going again. 

In fact, I was so energized by that encounter that I did my first marathon since the accident and the repair of my shoulder.

But the duck, the marathon, and my beta endorphins all made for a truly fun day.

If we got rid of all of the Margarine, the world would be a butter place.

Just saying here, but from a nutritional standpoint, you are better off with butter than Marge.  Hydrogenated Vegetable Oil is not good for the heart.

I'll get off my stage, I'm getting a nosebleed from being up so high up...




A man died and went to Heaven...

St Peter says to him,

“Before you meet with God, I should tell you ,we’ve looked over your life, and to be honest you really didn’t do anything particularly good or bad. We’re not really sure what to do with you. Can you tell us anything you did that can help us make a decision?”

The newly arrived soul thought for a moment and replied,

“Yeah, once whilst out driving I came upon a little old lady being harassed by a group of thugs. I pulled over, went up to the leader of the thugs. He was a big, muscular guy with a ring pierced through his lip. Well, I tore the ring out of his lip, and told him he and his gang had better stop bothering this lady or they would have to deal with me!”

“Wow that’s impressive, “When did this happen?”, asks St Peter.

“About three minutes ago,” came the reply.