“Funnin” (essays - a continuing series) Page 2 of 2 by Ted L Glines   ~THE “FUNNIN” SERIES - Page 2 - continued~ Click on any underlined title below to be linked to that essay in the series. LINKS: "Funnin #11 - AK English" "Funnin #12 - Rx" "Funnin #13 - Puppet Master" "Funnin #14 - Snack" "Funnin #15 - Non-Smoking" "Funnin #16 - Hug Your Shrink" “Funnin #17 - Methuselah's Age” “Funnin #18 - Vision” “Funnin #19 - Dead Skunk” “Funnin #20 - Golden Rule Flaw" (excerpt) Click Here for Page 1 of the series   “Funnin #11 - AK English” by Ted L Glines Gosh, wouldn't it be nice to be able to go through the filing cabinets of our minds; to be able to trash the useless factoids and set up new folders, bright and clean with no labels [yet]? Yes, perhaps we need a Spring cleaning LOL Nicht Gosh, wäre es schön, können durch die Aktenschränke von unseren Geist gehen; um trash die nutzlosen Gesundheitsinformationen und richten Sie neue Ordner, hell und sauber mit keine Etiketten [noch] zu können? Ja, brauchen wir vielleicht eine Spring-Reinigung. ~Courtesy of the Bing Translator [note that "trash" and "Spring" did not translate]. Isn't it wonderful how translation into a foreign language makes something look so much more educated and serious? “Ein Kind glaubt” von Ted L Glines die Spirale-weaves Kreise Naher und bald Flug von Sun und Bogen der Mond Soulful universelle Melodie Gier täuscht ideale als nichts aber Lust gesehen feinste Stahl ist um zu rosten aktiviert Imperien verfallenen in Staub im Herbst Blätter Ernte singt auf die zum Kinderspiel Frost Sparkles auf die Bäume der König ist auf seine Knie Untergang. eine Mutter betrübt alle Ihre Lektionen, die lange, da gelehrt führten zu naught aber Schlachten gekämpft Sie fragt, was ihr Leben gekauft hat ein Kind glaubt Wheee - what fun !!! For me, the online monster-killing games are a primary focal point for broadening my horizon via social interaction. I find it constantly fascinating to be sitting up here in the wee hours of my Texas night, and be conversing with [and sometimes helping] someone who is somewhere like Indonesia. Geez, I hope no one finds out -- it would ruin my evil vampire facade. This Stephen Hawking thing about aliens has got everyone talking, even Larry King. For decades, we have been transmitting countless messages beamed into outer space. Someone out there may be listening. And I am thinking that, compared to the age of the earth [to say nothing about the age of the universe], we humans are very new creatures which do not know much. If you suddenly found yourself in a strange and unknown jungle, would you run around yelling "Yoo Hoo" at the top of your lungs? You would? Well, as they say in the deep south [of China], "Y'on y'own, Glass-hoppah!" Hollywood has generated great box office revenue from outer space aliens. If we ever meet the real thing, they may be vastly different from anything our imaginations could currently conjure. Sticking to what we know, aliens may be small Yodas, and friendly, or the Yodas may be 300 feet tall, with attitudes, and a sweet-tooth for drumsticks of human. More advanced, more intelligent, omnipotent in their powers; I fail to see why the aliens would view us as more than an annoying infestation messing up an otherwise perfectly good planet. It is not a far reach to visualize them breaking out their pesticides and fumigating our mudball. What else would you do with vermin? My hotel is very active tonight. It's Prom Night at all the local high schools. Ya, this is their night to get drunk, doped up, and [they hope] laid. Of course, if they do get laid, they will be too drunk and doped up to appreciate it LOL Heck, I did the same thing when I was their age. Such fun, but I would not wish to relive the experience. At about 4:00 A.M., here came a tall and handsome young man, with a foxy chick who was kissing him all over. He obviously wanted to impress her. I helped him by renting him the most expensive suite in our hotel. I am sure that the young lady was duly impressed. Times Square, New York City. Big car-bomb scare. Inside the car, they found propane canisters, two full cans of gasoline, clocks, electrical wire, some fireworks, and a mysterious metal box. Some people were wondering if this was an international terrorism event. They do not yet know what might be in the metal box. They may never find out since they intend to detonate the thing. But, due to their construction, propane tanks are almost invulnerable to external explosions [and not known to spontaneously explode], and while gasoline cans which are full may cause a fire, it is almost empty gasoline cans which pose explosive threat because it is the fumes which burn rather than the liquid gasoline. This is high school general science 101. As for the fireworks, that is flash-bang, and the body of the car would adequately contain any fireworks ignition. Clocks are cool; useful for telling time. I never heard of electrical wire exploding on its own. Where, in all of this CNN drama, is there a bomb? What we are seeing here is a largely trumped-up media event being blown entirely out of proportion [as usual]. Of course, the strange metal box might contain a scaled-down nuclear device, but we shall probably never know. Gosh, where is Osama bin Laden when we really need him? Now we are 24 hours later and CNN is still pushing the Terrorist Attack on Times Square story for all it is worth. The mysterious metal box was found to contain 100 pounds of non-explosive grade fertilizer. So, no bomb there either. But, one of the CNN reporters described in detail how you could mix fuel oil with this fertilizer, add a detonator, and make the fertilizer into a bomb. I'm sure that real wanna-be terrorists are pleased that CNN shared that with them. Anyway, all night long, the constant coverage was about the Times Square bomber. At this point, it is becoming obvious that the only real terrorists are the CNN reporters. It has come to our attention that hunters in online games are abusing, misusing, and killing the Monsters. At the current rate, Monsters will be extinct soon. We must all join hands and rescue the Monsters from this cruel fate. "Save the Monsters - Urgent Rescue Foundation [SMURF]" calls for your support. For only $49.95, if you join SMURF in the next five minutes, you will also receive your very own FREE commemorative Smiling GonnaGitchaTulip stuffed Monster. He is smiling because you showed you cared. Have you hugged your Monster today? Awwww, isn't he sweeeeet !!! The following was sent to me by a dear friend, Marcia Miller-Twiford; she is describing her relationship with a great friend and a superb poet, passed away and gone but never forgotten: "I'd have to write an entire book to tell you about AK English. AK is for Amber Kathleen. I called her Kate. She was the best friend I've ever had. We met on-line at a website for poets which is no longer active. We went on to become very close. She was also a webmaster. Her site, Windows of the Soul, was very much like TWF. A lot of our members were also on her site and remember her as being a very nice but private person. She didn't make friends easily. She didn't want to. She felt she couldn’t give friendships the time they deserved. For some reason only the fates know of, for me she found the time, and she was more than a friend to me - she was my soul sister and my mentor. Every Sunday evening at 7:00, my time, we'd each have a glass of wine in front of us, set our Email incoming time to one minute (in the days just prior to instant messaging) and the letters would fly back and forth. She wrote her letters the same way she wrote most of her poetry - with a lot of ellipses. "One night she told me she was feeling very tired and it was difficult for her to get through a day at work. She was high ranking in one of Chicago's large corporations and her position as operations manager was very demanding. Finally she went to the doctor who diagnosed a bladder infection and put her on antibiotics. The fatigue worsened and then blood appeared in her urine. Her doctors did nothing. Months went by. Months wherein she could barely get through a day. She changed doctors. Test after test, treatment after treatment, and then finally, months later a biopsy. She had bladder cancer and by then it had spread throughout. Medical bureacracy's ineptness and procrastination murdered her. "Less than two months after the cancer was diagnosed she passed away, at home. I knew the minute she died. A cold shiver ran through me and then a warmth I can't describe except to say it was as if warm arms were wrapped around me. The arms of a friend forevermore in my heart." ~Marcia Miller-Twiford, Webmaster of The Writing Forum. It comes to me that a genuine friend/soul-sibling is one who leaves a deep footprint in your heart and, in the letter quoted above, Marcia Miller-Twiford is touchingly sharing such a friend with us. ©Ted L Glines   “Funnin #12 - Rx” by Ted L Glines "Something may have gotten lost in the translation." We've all heard that one. Sometimes when translating from one language to another [whether using a Free or a Professional Translator], whole ideas and meanings can become scewed. Some of this is caused by the way languages are originated and designed. The French language, for example, was primarily designed to be a romantic or socially interactive way to communicate. English, on the other hand, was designed to be a mercantile language and is more business-oriented. There are whole ideas and phrases in French which suffer distortion when translated into English, and vice versa. Just for fun, let us see what happens when we take a simple verse in English and translate it through a couple of different languages and then take the final version and translate that back into English: Original in English Crossing the football field coming home from work - the lonely businessman. English into French Traverser le terrain de football Accueil semblant provenir de travail - l'homme d'affaires solitaire. French into German Überqueren Sie das Fußballfeld Anzeige von Arbeit - home kommen der einsame Geschäftsmann. German into Swedish Passera fältet fotboll Visa arbete - come home den ensamma företagare. Finally - Swedish back to English Pass field football Show work-come home the sole holders. Not hardly any resenblance to the original verse in English. Indeed, something was lost in the translation. Think about this little experiment the next time you are watching news coverage of the United Nations Security Council, with all of the international representatives listening to translated proposals in their earphones, and then they respond in their own languages, and another layer of translation broadcasts through the earphones of that august body of men. That is really scarey. Dreaming, dreaming, going back 13,000 years to California and Nevada when the Pleistocene Ice Age was ending. Such a difference. East of the Sierra Nevada is marshes, forests, wetlands nurtured by withdrawing glaciation. The People are already here. We hunt animals like Ground Sloths, Beautiful Armadillos, Short-faced Skunk, Dire Wolf, Short-faced Bear, the American Lion, Giant Beaver, Stag-moose, Long-toothed Cats. American Mastodon, and Mammoths. [All of these animals are long since extinct.] Glaciers, moving, have unearthed strange bones from huge creatures made of stone. Large triangular stone teeth are found and a trader tells us these look like the teeth from a horrible predator fish he has seen in the Western Mother Sea. Chunks of stone are found which have the same grain as found in trees, and we wonder at a world where stone creatures abound, roaming through marshlands and stone forests. We have never seen creatures such as these, nor ever seen stone trees, but here is the proof before our eyes. We sing their spirits to the stars and we pray that they will not come back angry to chase us. We journey to the western sea, our Mother. We camp in a high and long valley, forested hills to west and east. We construct our shelters and prepare to hunt in a flower-strewn meadow which will someday be the bottom of San Francisco Bay ... What causes cancer? In seeking an answer, I expected to find "Smoking Causes Cancer" stamped all over everything, especially in scholarly papers about lung cancer. Isn't that what we have been told for decades? I found no such thing. Instead, with the blatent exceptions of the Journals of Consumer Ignorance [and they are legion], I found that researchers are placing the cause of cancer at the doorstep of latent or chronic viruses. And it plays out like this: A virus is a collection of genes. To replicate, some viruses settle in the nucleus of the host cell and use the cell machinery to replicate. What is the effect of the presence of a virus in the nucleus? Like all athletes, a gene needs energy. When a virus enters the nucleolus it starts to consume the energy in the nucleus. The result? A starved athlete, and a decrease in yardage during games. In terms of the BRCA1 [Breast Cancer 1] gene, the virus consumes the energy. The BRCA1 gene is starved. The production of the BRCA1 protein is decreased, and the breast tissue starts to develop tumors. (See a more technical description in the European Journal of Cancer paper.) The infection with the chronic or latent virus is starving many genes, and as a result, it is causing the development of many chronic diseases. This sequence of events easily explains why people who suffer from obesity are also more likely to suffer from diabetes, heart disease, and cancer. It also tells you that obesity is not a cause of cancer, another common misconception, but rather another effect of the gene starvation caused by the chronic viruses residing in the adipocytes (or fat cells) of obese people. Viruses cause cancer. I am glad that I asked the question, because one thing has always puzzled me. In my entire life, I have only known two people who died with cancer as the cause. Interestingly, both of them had lung cancer. But neither one of them had ever smoked. In one case, that of a retired high school shop teacher, the cause of cancer was blamed on his inhalation of fumes in shop classes. Yet another erroneous opinion. So, why has smoking been the cancer scapegoat for all of these years? Blame that on the Baby Boomers, because most Baby Boomers were/are smokers. Therefore, if a Baby Boomer is diagnosed with cancer, the odds are that he/she is a smoker. And 1 + 1 = 5 or something like that. So we have an answer which is vastly different from that spewed forth by the popular press. But it is an alarming answer because we are all aware that viruses can be treated, so a solution is already in place. Why are we not treating the causative viruses and eradicating cancer? Could it be that the monumental cash cow called "Cancer Research" [average $3.2 billion tax dollars per year, plus all of your donations] is too busy feeding itself ... what an epiphany. And that of course leads me to the age-old question: Where did the symbol "Rx" come from? We have theories but no real facts. The simple, quick answer--but not the only (or most romantic) one--is that Rx is an abbreviation for the Latin word "recipere" or "recipe," which means "Take, thou." But Rx isn't just a normal R and x. It's a symbol (not available in the ASCII list) of an italic R with a leg that hangs down below the line with an X line through it. This brings me to theory number two, from the book Devils, Drugs, and Doctors, written in 1931: "Rx is not, as is frequently supposed, an abbreviation of a Latin word meaning recipe or compound, but is an invocation to Jupiter, a prayer for his aid to make the treatment effective...sometimes in old medical manuscripts all the R's occurring in the text were crossed." In other words, the Rx symbol was a corruption of the ancient symbol for the Roman god Jupiter. If you're an astrology fan, you know this symbol which has a very similar crossed leg at the bottom right. Nonsense, says Phil Griego, owner of a local pharmacy called "Phil's Pills." He should know. I called him because he has the Rx symbol incorporated into his store logo. He says the R probably came from "recipe" but the pharmaceutical symbol used to be an EYE with an "x" below it instead of the "R," and was called the "Eye of Horus." According to Phil, the Egyptian god Horus was the "father of pharmacy." As soon as he said it, I remembered seeing a farmacia in Juarez, Mexico with the eyeball/x picture in its logo. "Horus was the son of two of the main gods in Egyptian mythology, Isis and Osiris. Horus had an evil uncle (Seth) who murdered Osiris, the father of Horus. Horus did battle with Seth to avenge his father's murder. During the fight, Seth plucked out Horus' left eye and tore it apart. Thoth (god of wisdom and magic) found the eye, pieced it together and added some magic. He returned the eye to Horus, who in turn gave it to his murdered father Osiris, thereby bringing him back to life. The Eye of Horus (or 'udjat') became a powerful symbol in ancient Egypt. It was worn as an amulet to ensure good health and ward off sickness. The Eye of Horus is depicted as a human eye and eyebrow, decorated with the markings seen under the eyes of falcons since Horus had the head of a falcon. The right eye represented the sun and the left eye the moon.... The left eye is the origin of the pharmacist's symbol for prescription, 'Rx'" [I hope you memorized all that. There will be a test.] © Ted L. Glines   “Funnin #13 - Puppet Master” by Ted L Glines Got an entertaining friend named Scope. He is so radical that he thinks Newsmax is left-wing. Don't know whether to call him a tinkerer or a mad scientist, but he is rich enough to do what he wants. Scope detests political parties and politicians, saying that they do nothing but grasp for the pork-barrel wealth and the perks. Scope has decided to send a message. He designed two miniature radio-activated thermonuclear devices, about the size of peanut butter sandwiches, and he will use a special FM remote control to detonate them. He constructed these devices from plastics and synthetics which cannot be detected by X-ray, radar, sonar, or Facebook. Then he bought a stuffed elephant and a donkey and implanted his "sandwiches" into them, and mounted them on radio-controlled motorized wheels [would that be a trojan donkey?]. Scope will have the Pope [geez, that rhymes] present these two fake symbolic animals to the president next Tuesday - commemorating cooperation between the two major political parties - in a CNN Special at the White House. Scope says in an email, "Should be a bang-up event, tossing this current teapot dome all the way north into Boston harbor. LOL" Gotta love Scope; he has such a geeky sense of humor. Hmm ... we do have the technology to do what Scope is joking about [he is joking, isn't he?]. It's a wonder some CNN anchor-person has not broadcast the instructions for doing it - ROFLOL Liz Cosline, an old friend, has joined a Facebook group called Neworld SUCCE$$, a gathering of experienced people who would care to be mentors, for free! I love this concept and have also joined Neworld SUCCE$$. It is wonderful to see folks who are willing to reach back and help those who are just starting. I hope that I may help :) Prahlad Jani, an 82-year-old Indian yogi, is making headlines by claims that for the past 70 years he has had nothing -- not one calorie -- to eat and not one drop of liquid to drink. To test his claims, Indian military doctors put him under round-the-clock observation during a two-week hospital stay that ended last week, news reports say. During that time he didn’t ingest any food or water – and remained perfectly healthy, the researchers said. ~MSN 11 May 2010 "Two giant snakes held up the earth. Believing it to be their egg, the snakes had been guarding it and waiting for all of eternity to see the earth hatch. Legend foretold of a time when the snakes' hopes would be fulfilled. Father Sun would fall to the ground, and a terrible earthquake would split the world in two. From the broken halves, a fiery serpent would slither out. The serpent would look around, find itself alone and bite its tail in anguish. In the midst of that sacred-serpent circle, a new world would be born, clean and pure, filled with strange new animals and plants." ~People of the Sea, by Kathleen O'Neal Gear and W. Michael Gear Looking for a decent computer game [no predators] for your child? Maybe for yourself? For some, FarmVille may be an ideal choice. Age 10 might be a reasonable prerequisite since, underlying this game are the concepts of investment and profit-taking [or suffering losses]. As the game name implies, you will operate a farm; plowing and planting and harvesting and selling your crops, only to turn around and plow [etc.] in the eternal cycle of any real farm. There are countless opportunities to help other "farmers" and share gifts back and forth. Good clean fun for young and old. Look up FarmVille in your browser. And, as you are conversing with someone on your cellphone, and one of your FarmVille sheep goes "Baaaaaaa!" in the background, you'll giggle at the "What the heck was that?" from your caller. Facebook is yakking about Jupiter ducking behind the Sun long enough to lose one of its dark equatorial belts. Quite naturally, I had to look into that. Jupiter's gaseous surface is very windy, with wind speeds exceeding 400 mph (620 kph) in wide bands of latitude. Winds in adjacent bands blow in opposite directions [???]. The light colored bands we see are called zones; the dark ones are called belts. Heck, if the wind was blowing 400+ MPH, I'd probably lose more than my belt. Research is the tried and true backbone of decision-making. Is this a good thing? In college, it was required for me to study statistics. I received top grades because the subject matter fascinated me. As part of this, I had to do my own research project, as well as having to study the mechanics of many classic research studies. This was incredibly enlightening. I learned that every research study begins with a theory, and the study is conducted on all aspects which support that theory, and iron-clad statistics are developed from the study -- statistics which, again, support the original theory. Thus, with the research project beginning with a theory, we have the tail wagging the dog right from day one. Resulting from this model, we produce statistics which support a theory, even when that theory is wrong. And decisions at all levels of government are based upon such flawed research, thus producing flawed legislation which may do real damage if it is enforced. Perhaps this is the answer to another question; maybe non-enforcement of laws which do not relate to reality is the very best service that enforcing agencies can do for us peons. “Toast to Mary Magdalene” by Ted L Glines Drink a toast to Mary Magdalene immaculate prostitute sister-mother-daughter-lover for pay, they say, but often times for free if love is ever without horrid cost but dare we ask what did Jesus need omnipotent walker on waters sandals wearing through desert sands absorbing pus from those He healed tall handsome vital messiah uplifting beggars - murderers - thieves Roman centurions killing christians three hundred years before Christianity was invented making sustenance and drink loaves and fishes turning water into wine for those teeming masses who watched Him die stood by and watched Jesus asked nothing for himself but there was one thing He needed silently always craved in the midst of noisy treachery more painful than any spikes Jesus longed for tranquil time to drink a toast to the friend who never turned away a toast to Mary Magdalene Is the phone your puppet master? It rings and you jump up like some comic doll with strings attached? Poor you. No wonder you are an unhealthy nervous wreck, overburdened with all the drama and BS [and telemarketers]. You will probably have strokes and heart attacks and die by next Tuesday. If that is okay by you, then keep on popping up like a jack-in-the-box every time your phone rings. Be as screwed up as you want to be. But, do me a favor -- do not dial my number to tell me about it -- you will save me the fuss of cussing my idiotic ringing phone, which I am not going to answer anyway. In Siddha Yoga, they say, "When the student is ready, the teacher will appear." Independent thinkers have another saying, "When the puppet severs its strings, the puppet master will disappear." See, as in the Home Depot slogan, "That was easy!" © Ted L. Glines   “Funnin #14 - Snack” by Ted L Glines Young Friar Alfredo went on a mission to a south-seas garden paradise island where they still had cannibals. He was going to convert the natives. Bless him! Unfortunately, Alfredo was the one who got converted. The natives said he was most delicious. Tasted like chicken. The chief of the cannibals, being a shrewd businessman, sold the recipe to Marie Callender's, whose "Grilled Chicken Alfredo Bake" became popular. One wonders where Marie Callender's is getting their supply of Alfredos. My spies are everywhere, and I learned of a house of ill repute in the same city as the Marie Callender's production facilities. This house of prostitution is very popular with trendy people like telemarketers and politicians. Every night, the Marie Callender's truck comes to visit the madam's house. Neighbors in the surrounding area chuckle behind their hands and gossip with their friends about the driver of the Marie Callender's truck and his every-night need for such spice. Earlier this evening, I was riding to work with my neighbor. He was yakking on his cellphone all the way. He had some kind of a hookup so he could talk "hands free" but I noticed that his driving was erratic. He almost sideswiped one car, and he got beeped at when he failed to see that the signal had turned green. He was so deep into his cellphone discussion that he could not pay attention to the road around him. I caught the gist of their conversation. It was about how the world had become so over-populated and people in third-world countries were starving to death. The world was going to hades in a hand-basket, and why didn't the President do something about it? I tapped him on the shoulder [had to do it twice to get his attention] and told him that the solution was simple: encourage cannibalism -- solve the food problem and reduce the population at the same time. That paused him. During the rest of our trip to work, I caught him glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. Christ is the English term for the Greek Χ??ρ??ι??σssτttό??ς?? (Khristós) meaning "the anointed one". It is a translation of the Hebrew מ??ָ??ש??ִ??ׁ??י??ח??ַ?? (Māaašîaḥ??), usually transliterated into English as Messiah.The word is often misunderstood to be the surname of Jesus due to the numerous mentions of Jesus Christ in the Christian Bible. The word is in fact used as a title, hence its common reciprocal use Christ Jesus, meaning "Jesus The Anointed One", or "Jesus The Messiah". Followers of Jesus became known as Christians because they believed that Jesus was the Christ, or Messiah, prophesied about in the Tanakh (which Christians term the Old Testament). Jews reject this claim and are still waiting for Christ to come. And therein boils the argument which has been fomenting for almost 2,000 years. Yes, the Jewish Tanakh prophesied the coming of a Messiah, or Christ. But, no, Jesus was never recognized as being this Christ or Messiah. It was not until about 250+ years after the death of Jesus that there arose a great controversy between several factions, all of them followers of Jesus but diverging greatly in issues of doctrine and historical detail. One of these factions emerged victorious and founded Christianity based upon their claim that Jesus was, indeed, the Christ, or Messiah prophesied in the ancient Jewish Tanakh. This claim came to be the cornerstone of what became the Christian religion, and further claims were brought forward as validations for this all-important cornerstone. It is because none of these claims can be proven that we continue the dispute through today and into the forever of tomorrow. We have Vatican City and about 30% of our world's population claim to be Christians, so those early founding fathers of the organized Christian church did a splendid job in creating the new religion. Were their claimed miracles true? Or false? I can offer no proofs. If you can offer any evidence that those miracles happened, please bring your proofs into the light of day. No one else is stepping forward. All great religions were founded on the bedrock of great mythos, and all great religions have contributed more to debate than they have to mankind's benefit. If Christians actively did the work of Jesus, the debate really would not matter. Would it? An Obituary printed in the London Times Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be rememb...ered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as: Knowing when to come in out of the rain; why the early bird gets the worm; life isn't always fair; and maybe it was my fault. Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not children, are in charge). His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a 6-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition. Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children. It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer sun lotion or an aspirin to a student, but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion. Common Sense lost the will to live as the churches became businesses, and criminals received better treatment than their victims. Common Sense took a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own home, and the burglar could sue you for assault. Common Sense finally gave up the will to live after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled some in her lap and was promptly awarded a huge settlement. Common Sense was preceded in death, by his parents, Truth and Trust; his wife, Discretion; his daughter, Responsibility; and his son, Reason. He is survived by his 4 stepbrothers; I Know My Rights, I Want It Now, Someone Else Is To Blame, and I'm A Victim. Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone. If you still remember him, pass this on. If not, join the majority and do nothing. ~From London Times via Doug Dorsey-Payton “Copyfight” by Ted L Glines You stole my poem, you rascal, you "I've got you now" - I'm comin' for you you published my poem with your name on it claiming that you had written my sonnet I'm the only one coulda thought them thoughts and it's pride like that which gives me the hots though what I write is crude and banal 'bout copyright - I'm downright anal gonna dip you in tar - ride you on a rail an' you'll be wishing you was safe in jail Airforce - Marines - and National Guard stormin' your house - you better run, Pard you are the lawn and I'm gonna mow it "Vengeance is Mine" screams the injured Poet an' now that you're scared and runnin' in fear I'm gonna laugh and drink me a beer. I had a kitten-buddy when I was about nine years old. She would run to me when I came home from school, and we spent tons of time playing, with her fiercely chasing and pouncing the piece of yarn I trailed around the floor. She followed me around outside and always napped on my bed. It was funny to watch/feel her running right up my pants and shirt so she could get onto my shoulder. She liked to touch noses. Little kitty-kisses. One morning before dawn [it was still black outside], I felt her against my side. She sometimes came into the bed and snuggled into my warmth. I carefully rolled over and reached to pet her. She was hard, and cold. I must have unconsciously rolled over on top of her in my sleep, and smothered her. My grandmother spent much energy over the following weeks/months, putting her young "son" back together after my crying jags. Now, 60 years later, the trauma of that event remains a horrible flag in my memory. But, in many subtle ways, my long-term reaction to that event has helped to shape who I am and how I relate in gentleness to all creatures great and small. It is time for you to drop out of the masses who gripe and moan about all the problems, never help to solve them! Solutions are better. The best solutions are the simplest ones. Right? Example: [1] Overpopulation, and [2] Third World starving populations. The solution is obvious. Join: Support Nativistic Active Cannibals Klub [SNACK] today! And this solution is Green-Friendly! Just like the real world all around us, the Romeos and con-persons are everywhere. It's part of the human condition. Luckily, good people are everywhere, too. We learn avoidance from the former and love from the latter, and we walk on [sometimes wiser]. You have to pity someone who must lie and cheat to get close to you; their self-esteem must be damaged or destroyed to the point where being a predator is the only thing left for them. Can you imagine living in their one-dimensional world? © Ted L. Glines   “Funnin #15 - Non-Smoking” by Ted L Glines How're your buns? Hair buns, that is. Many elderly women like to wrap their hair in a bun. They must have a reason for doing this. As a hair-style, I have never thought that a bun was attractive in any way. Among ancient Japanese and American Indian warriors, hair was wrapped into a bun, but it served a crucial purpose. The bun kept their hair from flying into their eyes during battle. Also, during the wait before an ambush, their hair would not fly about in the wind and give them away to their unsuspecting victims. Sometimes, the bun would soften the blow of a club during battle. It is good to avoid getting your brains bashed out. So much for ancient times and the usefulness of buns. Coming back to our elderly ladies, we must remember that they have experienced much during their long lives, and perhaps they feel a need to take a warrior's precautions. Looking at "Life According to CNN," I can see that they have a point. I like the reality of right now, where I am and who I am, interacting in my immediate perceptions, like a sentient island of Now with waves of memory sweeping my beach. Sounds sorta poetic but it's the best truth for my life. "Soul Mates" is a label which has been stretched way beyond its obvious elasticity, to include almost every degree of inter-connection between all those passing-in-the-night people, and we grasp them to our breast and hang on for dear life, even when the winds of fate are carrying them away to their own horizon. It's as if we have this awful inside empty place and we are counting on those "Soul Mates" to fill us up. Perhaps, in a way, that makes us into self-seeking soul-vampires ... not a nice self-vision, but maybe true. Starting today, I am building a business which will gross me about $4,565,000 per month. Nothing to it, and here is the pitch: For only $9.13 per month, less than 31 cents per day, we will pay off your final expenses up to $20,000, so your surviving family will not be burdened by the expense of your funeral costs. It is an obviously great deal and it should take me no time to sign up 500,000 worried baby-boomers. Where else could you get a deal like this for only $9.13 per month - less than 31 cents per day? I can't lose with this one. They'll pay the $9.13 each month for all those years and then they'll die ... and they'll never know when their "death-benefit" policy fails to pay off! Today I created my TRUSTME DEATH INSURANCE COMPANY as a New Jersey No-Liability Corporation, and my ad starts tomorrow in the New York Times classifieds. By next week, I'll be rolling in dough. At the end of 10 years, I will buy the Bahamas and go live there. Piece of cake. Say, you wouldn't be interested in buying the Brooklyn Bridge, would ya? Special One-Day-Only Sale. Been doing good with my Magic Box, too. Just a tall box with a slot in the top and a locked door in the back. On the front in Carnival lettering, it says: "MILLION BUCKS JACKPOT - Awarded Next Tuesday at Noon - Put All Your Money in the Box - Go Home and Wait !!!" Every day at 11:30 AM I go and collect the cash. Former All-Star Pitcher Jose Lima Dies at 37 ... sheesh ... 37 ... wonder what this guy did to self-destruct at an age when most people are just coming outta their prime? Didn't "soul mate" come outta the experimental flower-children tripping through the tulips in Golden Gate Park? Eternal twinsies! Somewhen, in that same time period, we saw the birth of the born again idiots, and the whole thing degenerated into a psychedelic mind game. It is difficult to visualize but the quite serious hippy Carmelites did pave the way for Jerry Falwell, Jim Jones and David Koresh ... different strokes, ya know. On Facebook, I have Friends whose names I cannot begin to pronounce, from countries I have never heard of, from places where English is neither spoken nor taught. Yet, I converse with them as easily as talking to someone in Dallas. Picture this: Your Friend is facing a screen where everything is in Ugandan, and his message to you is typed in Ugandan. You are seeing a screen where everything is in English. Here comes your Ugandan Friend's message - in perfect English. You smile and respond in English, and he receives your response in his comfortable Ugandan. There is no communication gap, here. So, why can't we communicate with our own government leaders? Why is it that there is no truthy interaction with our own family members? Let's trade them in and get some Ugandans. My town, New Boston, Texas, has roots in The South. This area was settled by refugees from the Reconstruction era, following the Civil War. They were Confederate and they were dispossessed and most of them came west to find peace and some sense of home. Some of them came west in wagons, some on horseback, and some walked all that way. This area, near the Red River, promised fertile land, plenty of trees for building, and a chance to start over. The pioneer families were white and black and they brought their southern racist ideas with them, but they were all escaping the horrors of a failed government and the oppression of The North. The black families did not intermingle with the whites, but the white families intermingled to the point where family bloodlines may now be indistinct and blurred. The major families hold reunions once per year, and family members come from far and near to attend. There is always one local matron who is the accepted family social director. She sends out the invitations, makes hotel reservations, decides where and when the whole family will meet and eat and party hearty. She is the hallowed queen of the family reunion. You do not mess with this lady. She is tough. And, more often than not, she is black, for the old white families seem not so inclined to things like family reunions. As a hotel operator, I have the annual opportunity to meet and greet and host 49 rooms of family members under the vigilant eye of the afore-mentioned social director, for the four or five days of their stay. In many ways, this is the high point of my hotel year because it is such a learning time for me. Like any travelers who are away from home, they have forgotten to bring their toothbrushes, need more towels than the rooms provide, need directions to the Baptist hall where hospitalities have been provided, and, would I please make the rowdy boys in Room 122 quiet down a bit? When you bring together 100+ members of one family together for an extended stay under one roof, friction will be a palpable thing, and there is a feeling of aggravated tolerance as the whole fan damily copes until they can breathe a sigh of relief when they finally head back home. I always laugh when I watch the kids pouncing on each other at the pool, having far more fun than their adults can cope with. Sometimes I think that these family reunions are more fun for me than they are for the actual family members. There is nothing cuter or more stunningly beautiful than the instant when a boisterous little black girl blazes her excited smile as she lunges into her grandma's arms. I wish I could bottle the feeling of that moment. Maybe, in my vicarious experience with them, I am receiving a feeling of family which I have never had in my white life. Yep, me and Larry King entertaining the general public. He will finish his career and I will finish mine and you will finish yours ... and the wonderful general public will not have learned a damned thing. We do not write for the general public. We write to entertain each other. If I ever did publish a book, its sole goal would be sending an autographed copy to you [a vanity trip], and I could care less about what happened to the rest of the copies [not one book on my shelves could be tossed to make room for something with my name on it]. I strolled the aisles of Books-a-Million last Tuesday and I did not see any space on those shelves for me. I grabbed a book about archeological records of Oregon coastal Indian relics from 12,000 BC, and, later, I strolled back to the shelves and the space I had made vacant was already filled by a book promoting Vegan diets. I would hate to think that a book by Ted L Gines could ever be replaced by a book promoting the consumption of tofu. Where is the Reality? I have a Friend on Facebook who lives in a small Indonesian city. I know all about his family, and what they do, and the way they love and support each other, and I know the way he gripes about his aunt who is a holy terror. Sheesh, that old lady is on a power trip like you wouldn't believe. He is quite open and sharing and I love having him as a Friend. And, just yesterday, he was one of thousands who rioted in the center of his city, weapons and signs and shouted slogans, supporting their government driven agenda of "Kill the Imperialistic American Swine!" And I wonder, how is this the same person who is a Friend in my Windows life? Which is Real, the scene in his city center, or my Friend on Facebook? I would not dream of asking my Friend about his riot participation. That would shame him and we do not shame our Friends. Eventually, our Friends on Facebook will achieve worldwide peace in spite of our governments' hateful rhetoric. Tonight, I had a walk-in customer at my hotel. He demanded a Non-Smoking room. And then I saw that he was from Los Angeles. It was all I could do to keep from laughing in his face. If you have ever seen the brown haze that Los Angelites breathe, you will see the humor. Every day, those people are inhaling an array of toxic gases which could kill an elephant. The same is true for those residing in many industrial cities. Several weeks back, I had a walk-in customer who had flown in from Taiwan, and he demanded a Non-Smoking room. The worst smog I ever saw when I was in the Navy, was the brown haze-blot which kept you from seeing the main island of Taiwan. But there is a deeper element to this. In 40+ years in the hotel business, I can let you in on the biggest standing joke in the hotel business. Do you know the difference between a Non-Smoking room, and a Smoking room, in any hotel? Try this simple answer: Momentary presence of an ashtray. Regardless of the brand name of your chosen hotel, the business is owned by an investor whose sole motivation is profit, getting the maximum return on his investment dollar. He is going to rent every room in his hotel, and he does not care whether you smoke or not. Remember that when you check into any hotel demanding a Non-Smoking room. If your front desk clerk is a veteran, he is smiling Mr. Hospitality on the outside, and laughing at you on the inside. © Ted L. Glines   “Funnin #16 - Hug Your Shrink” by Ted L Glines A thought came to me [oh oh] while watching the CNN coverage of BP's "Top Kill" operation. Pressure at that depth is over 2,000 PSI, yet the pressure inside the oil pocket must be immensley higher to allow such a huge volume of product to be blowing out, as we are seeing on our TV screens. But I am remembering that such pockets of oil are everywhere in our earth's mantle. We know that this mantle is constantly moving, and is constantly fractured by earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and other tectonic natural events. Why have we never seen such a cataclysmic blowout resulting from natural fracturing of our earth's crust? Has BP somehow created a brand new type of natural event? ~Published on iReport-CNN, 27 May 2010 The answer to my question is very simple and I imagine they will be talking about it. That is my intention. What happens is this: BP drills holes down through the crust and into the pocket of oil. Pipes are forced down through those holes. The oil is under no abnormal pressure when this operation is begun. In order to create the necessary pressurized conditions which will push the oil up to the surface, one of the pipes is used to pump immense volumes of water into the pocket of oil. Oil and water do not mix and the water pressurizes the oil from below. Thus, BP certainly did create the pressurized conditions which have allowed this blowout to happen. And this does beg a second question: The pipe which was used to pump the pressurizing water into the oil pocket - is still there. That water pipe remains intact down into the water-filled bottom level of the pocket. Why not open the now-shut valve on that water pipe, and let this thing depressurize itself? There it was, 5:42 in the predawn morning. I stepped outside and the Early Bird was challenging everything with "Whittier ... Whittier ... Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep" - Yep, clear as a bell. That's what he said! It made as much sense as anything heard on CNN, maybe more. There were no answering retorts, so I guess he had scared everything half to death. I think I will practice what he yelled. Maybe it will scare away the telemarketers and those wet-behind-the-ears young missionaries on bicycles. "That Schwarzenegger and Jesse Ventura, two of the stars from the first "Predator," would go on to become governors should give one pause when hailing democracy as one of human history's greatest inventions." ~Glenn Whipp, Special to MSN Movies Mate-poaching is the latest thing on MSN. Yep, women who like nothing better than to snag a married man. There have been University studies and Psychological seminars, and it has been found to be fashionable for women to get their dopamine rushes by stealing some other woman's mate. Many people decry such blatant immoral activities. Women who would do such a thing should be banned from the Church, be tarred and feathered and ridden out of town on a rail, and perhaps be burned at the stake. On the other hand, I believe I want to run out and get married today, so I can get poached. Come on gals, here I am. Poach me. On my Yahoo sign-in this morning, there was this message: "A sneeze can travel up to 100 mph." That is most certainly a critically useful tidbit of information. I would dearly love to meet the highly paid technician who set up his electronic gear and clocked that sneeze as it sped by. Must have been pretty boring around the ole clinic that day. But the statement does alarm me because of Katie, a small dog who is Marcia's little bitty buddy. Katie was sneezing and it is obvious that a 100 mph sneeze could blow little Katie backwards through a window and send her flapping across the yard. We shall see that Katie has a safety harness which will keep her from being tossed around like that. I am sure glad that Yahoo shared that information with me. Yes, I dialed the 800-number and had the wonderful PetZoom, sonic pet trainer, sent to me. Boy, was I ever glad! My little doggie had been a pure terror, eating my shoes, dumping over the trash can, chasing the cat, barking, and biting guests. One day, I had the PetZoom with me at work when a wild-eyed armed robber came running up to the counter, yelling he would shoot me if I didn't hand over the cash. I tensed up and accidentally pressed the PetZoom's button. I couldn't believe it when the crazy robber got this glazed look in his eyes, fell down on the floor, rolled over with arms and legs in the air, and I'll swear it looked like he wanted for me to scratch his belly. Oh, what about my maniacal little doggie terrorist? He still bites everybody, chases the cat and rummages in the trash. Yesterday, he ate the PetZoom. What is the purpose of the F.D.A.? According to its own statement as published on the F.D.A. Website: "The FDA is responsible for protecting the public health by assuring the safety, efficacy, and security of human and veterinary drugs, biological products, medical devices, our nation’s food supply, cosmetics, and products that emit radiation. The FDA is also responsible for advancing the public health by helping to speed innovations that make medicines and foods more effective, safer, and more affordable; and helping the public get the accurate, science-based information they need to use medicines and foods to improve their health." This mission statement is belied by a listing of 300+ common food additives, which are harmful, hazardous, toxic, and sometimes lethal, and are listed as ingredients of the F.D.A.-approved foods we purchase and consume everyday. On the face of it, the reality of toxic foods approved for consumption by the F.D.A. is in direct violation of the F.D.A.'s own mission statement. If their mission statement is a lie, does the F.D.A. have any reason to continue existing as a tax-supported government agency? Some folks say that poetry is a dying art form; that no one is interested in poems anymore. Have you listened to the lyrics of any popular songs recently? Perhaps some of these songs are your current favorites. Maybe older song lyrics appeal to you more. No matter which you may choose, welcome to platinum-record poetry. Gotta love the timing of Astrological predictions. On MSN today: "Jupiter, the planet of expansion and opportunity, joins together with Uranus, the planet of radical change, surprises, and experimentation on June 8. Together this combination of big energies promises to offer up plenty of chances for change and new beginnings. Want to make the most of these energies? Sagittarius: Love and romance could prove to be very exciting right now, as this Jupiter/Uranus configuration lands in your Fifth House of passion and fun. This is a great time to live life to the fullest, taking risks and letting yourself follow your passions." Timing? This had to wait until I am almost 70 years old? On June 8, picture me not sleeping at all, wide awake, peering about, totally alert for whatever might pop through my door. Yeah, right. Memorial Day. We honor the fallen soldiers, praising them for paying the ultimate price to make our world a better place, and to protect our way of life from harm. As I look around me on this Memorial Day, looking at the way we treat each other and the world, I pray that they did not die in vain. Please do not misunderstand your shrink. He is not there to cure you. He is not there to lead you by the trembling hand into a better and more satisfying life. Nope. Your psychologist does possess certain tool sets [example: transactional analysis; "The Games People Play" by Eric Berne, M.D.] which allow him to understand your motivations. His learned understanding allows him to give you feedback which you may, or may not, uptake and use to alter your own motivations so that you might, or might not, move to a happier stance in your own interaction with life. There are far more losers than winners in this box. If, in his entire career, your psychologist has one winner, he has justified the expense of his education. If your shrink has five winners, he will be leading seminars at Esalen Institute. If your psychologist has twenty-five winners, he will be one of the pens in the breast pocket of God. Have you hugged your shrink today? Death is a silent shadow in everything living, and death never goes away, a guide for all that you do, the one goal toward which you will always walk, and death is the one sure cure for all the ills of life. In the past, we viewed individuals singly, and we knew their qualities. That was when there were fewer people. Now, there are too many for the people to be viewed as individuals, and they all need something which we must provide. So, we automate the process of provisioning their needs, putting their names in the Box "Tarnos,BULLETIN,mg3k,oxy,Condor0001,bajorasj,Dwarfaz" and we mark the Needs Fullfilment element, and simply click "Send," and we never know the individual in these automated times.The Needs Fullfilment becomes an automated and timed ritual in our governance. Maybe "mg3k" no longer needs this provision, but we never know unless someone tells us to remove that Name from our automated list. And maybe someone who needs help has applied to be on our list, but we never know unless someone tells us to add that Name to our automated list. Automated systems are perfect at the moment when they are established, but they quickly fall into disarray, over time, due to lack of effecient bureaucratic communication. Tonya was looking sorta grim when she came in to relieve me at work this morning. I figured she might need cheering up. She was at the desk preparing work-sheets for the housekeepers. I saw a fly on the desk near her. Grabbing a swatter, I told her "Don't move." With a full round-house swing, I brought that swatter down -- BLAAAMMM -- I'm sure the ground trembled for a hundred yards around. "Ahhhh ,,," I said, "He's off to the Great Doggy-Doo Pile in the sky!" She broke a smile. "He's probably buzzing around St. Michael, even now ..." Tonya started laughing. "Up at the Pearly Gate," I gave her my most piercing look, "do you think they have fly-swatters?" That about did it for her. I did not have the heart to tell Tonya that I had clean missed that fly. We all lived happily ever after. © Ted L. Glines   “Funnin #17 - Methuselah’s Age” by Ted L Glines Brought to us by New Vitality, the household word in dietary supplements, comes "Ageless Male", the answer to everyman's heartfelt prayers. The "Ageless" lends a thought about immortality, reminding us of Methuselah. Psychologists are calling it the Doomsday Pill. This all natural testosterone supplement is clinically proven to increase testosterone levels by 61%, insuring improvement in those attributes of manhood which wane with age. Only one tiny problem: testosterone increases aggression. Aggression is what produces serial killers, suicide bombers, and telemarketers. Luckily, at the present time, only 39% of humans are aggressive. That seems harmless enough. But 39% + 61% = 100% aggression in the world as soon as this new product catches on. We are doomed. But, back to Methuselah. So there I was, sifting through a box of ancient papyrus scrolls, not thinking I would find more than one more boring documentation of the temple selling yet another sacrificial beast. Coming in to give sacrifice so that their farm would have good luck and be fruitful, the farmers brought raggly old sheep. The priests frowned on this and were glad to sell Grade A Sacrificial Sheep to the farmer. The old raggly sheep were accepted to be disposed of, but somehow became the next Grade A Sacrificial Sheep to be sold (graft and corruption). This made for lots of record keeping. Unrolling the ages-dusty scroll, what should my excited eyes behold? The answer! Everybody knows about Methuselah. You already know that he died on the 11th of Cheshvan of the year 1656 (Anno Mundi, after Creation), at the age of 969, seven days before the beginning of the Great Flood. I didn't have to tell you that; you would probably rather die than miss the festivities on the 11th of Cheshvan, right? Sure you would. But we take so much for granted. I'll bet you never stopped to wonder why Methuselah lived to such a ridiculous old age. Well, gentle reader, that's why you've got me; to wonder about such things. Aren't you lucky? After all, the average lifespan was about 29 years in Methuselah's time. And that's if you weren't eaten by carniverous sheep or trampled by a drunken camel. Or possibly drowned by a collapsing tunnel in the waters of the Red Sea. All that begetting took its toll too. It was a rough life. But to live to be 969 went way beyond amazing and swooped straight into outrageous. What a puzzle! Well, as we all know, the ancient Holy Land was simply crawling with scribes. In the land of the Israelites, there were more scribes per square mile than we have attorneys in New York. And they were a busy bunch. Here in my hand, scribbled in Hebrew, was the transcription of a conversation between Methuselah and God. Yep. Wow! Would I lie to you? They were talking about normal everyday stuff, like whether or not the Babylonian Camelriders would make the playoff that year, and the talk drifted around to the afterlife; always a popular topic. And God mentioned that there weren't any cheeseburgers in the afterlife. You could see a scrawl in the Hebrew writing, like the scribe was having a stroke. Apparently Methuselah was not pleased with this enlightenment, for the transcription quoted him as saying, "If there are no cheeseburgers, I'm not going! No afterlife for me until You put in a burger joint!" We may never know if God put a burger stand into the afterlife, but Methuselah did stay alive until he reached his 969th year (determined old geezer), and then he croaked, only one week before he would have drowned in the Great Flood. Seems like the odds were stacked against him scoring 970. Maybe they faked it by putting in a Taco Bell. And, now you know. © Ted L. Glines   “Funnin #18 - Vision” by Ted L Glines New email just in from God. Remodeling in Heaven. In response to popular demand, the Pearly Gates have been removed, and replaced with the Golden Arches. Now there are cheeseburgers. Let's hear it for The Big Guy Yaaayyyyyyy !!! This is for those who believe that moral values are simply common sense: How does morality play out to make you a good guy or a bad guy? There was a question posed on a philosophical testing website: If you could save the lives of 100,000 people by killing 10,000 other people, would it be morally correct to kill the 10,000? The administrators of this examination stressed that there was no "right" or "wrong" answer (?). Most of us know that a government, with its responsibility for the "greater good of the majority" would not hesitate to kill the 10,000 so that the other 100,000 would be saved. But you are not the government. What would you decide was the morally correct thing to do? It is not an easy question, nor an easy decision for you to make, is it? In a populated battle zone, commanders must make such choices every day. And that's no joke. Government apologizes that Daylight Savings Time was cancelled this year and you had to reset your clocks again. The Congress could not agree (old fuddy-duddies are senile) whether to spring forward or fall back. Following several filibusters, the matter was sent to committee and they may have it figured out by next year. I had a dream. One day (maybe the Eighth Day), God got curious and decided to go see some of the things He had created. So He grabbed His tools and skated off through the universe. God looked at this and that. Over here, he saw something which looked pretty cool. Over there, God saw something which was very cool. And He spotted something else which was way-cool. "Wow!" He said. And then God came upon a little bitty insignificant planet, and what did His eyes see? On this dumb little planet, things were wriggling. Things were flying and walking and running and jumping and slithering and swimming and burrowing in the ground. And one of the things killed another of the things. So much wriggling. God could not believe His eyes. So God whipped out his can of Celestial Raid and "Pssssssssssstttttt" took care of THAT problem. God continued on His tour, shaking His head. So, the next time you get your ego tied in a knot, and you start mumbling about how God is all about YOU, remember that this dream might have been ... a ... vision. © Ted L Glines   “Funnin #19 - Dead Skunk” This was not a life-threatening accident. It was seven in the morning when I got off work. I rolled out of the hotel parking lot and cussed when I turned right -- right into the glaring sun. What in the world is wrong with city planners; designing east-west streets so that everyone is driving directly into the sun when going to work and coming home? Anyway, I shielded my eyes as best I could and turned right again at the stop light, breathing a relief-sigh with the sun no longer in my eyes. Only had to go one block to the next light. I got into the left-turn lane and got the green light. After yielding to oncoming traffic, I quickly made my left turn, right into that dratted sun again! I thought I had spotted where the street was but the next thing I knew was a crashity-crash, the car tipping, and a great slam as the car went over the edge and plummeted to the water-drainage below. Yep, missed the whole danged road! The passenger-side door was straight up, over my head. Everything in the car had flown to new locations; front seat floorboard stuff was in the back seat. Me? Not a bruise or a scratch; just a bit shaky and a wounded ego. The engine was still running, so I shut it off, being cautious about it igniting any spilled gasoline. Thanks to some kind folks and the police, I was helped up and out of the car, and a tow truck was soon on the scene. I was home with the car on the back of a flat-bed tow truck by 8:10 AM. This was not a life-threatening accident; it was a ridiculous accident. One good thing about a car which is parked on its side way down in a really deep ditch; you don't have to worry about it going anywhere. You don't suppose this will have a bad effect on my application for a position as a Driver's Ed teacher? The above is a true story; yet another event in Life According to Ted. Oh, on the following night, the car started right up so I could go to work. A 1995 Honda Civic does not know when it has been wrecked. This is another true story which makes you wonder how does the military pick its Officer Candidate School people. As you know, the pilots who fly our military planes are officers; college grads, intelligent and highly trained. If a pilot notes anything wrong with his plane, he reports the malfunction on a chit which goes to the repair techs. One of the techs showed me a chit he had received from a returned pilot. It was about a malfunctioning switch. The pilot had noted that this switch would not work in the "OFF" position. The tech responded back to the pilot, "Put the switch in the "ON" position and it should work just fine, Sir." Flying Morons Squadron LOL Nine out of ten doctors say that shopping on Black Friday is hazardous to your health. The tenth doctor is unavailable for comment. He was run over and killed by multiple angry old ladies while shopping on Black Friday at K-Mart. Gentle Reader, I am always looking out for your well-being, and I have found something which will be of grave concern. People believe that a hamburger is a hamburger, but this is not true. Here in my hand, I am holding a package of 4 Angus Steak Burgers, and it plainly states "ALL NATURAL" in bold print. Just think, I could have purchased a package of unnatural hamburgers. I would hate to think, in these days of genetic engineering, what manner of creature might be ground up to make unnatural burgers; it might be something with three heads. So, you be careful when you buy your hamburger, ya hear! This morning in my little boondocky hamlet of New Boston, Texas, the front page story was a dead skunk on the road right in front of the courthouse. Local people had stopped to look at it, not getting too close, mind you. There was an aroma, and up-wind was an excellent choice. At one point, their cars were blocking the road until our local police chief encouraged them to go on about their business. Within the hour, that dead skunk was a major topic in both restaurants, the feed and fuel, and down at the church. I'm sure there was a police report about it. It was only last week that little Billy Bob blew up some firecrackers and set his mom's clothesline full of sheets on fire. Half the town followed our fire truck to the conflagration. See, and you thought we never had any excitement out here! ©Ted L Glines   “Funnin #20 - Golden Rule Flaw” (excerpt) by Ted L Glines “Hug Thy Demon” Guilt, Rage, Sorrow, Vengeance, Terror, Envy and Greed. These are the names of the demons which create "man's inhumanity to man," and I was sure that God never intended for His creation to be thus faulted. Well, I thought I was sure until it came to me that perfection serves only a decorative purpose. A perfect thing has nothing remaining to accomplish. Flaws and imperfections are what empower change and evolution. With perfection comes final stillness and death. What God created is ever flowing forward in an erratic river of evolution, and the goal is not to arrive at perfection, for arrival at a perfect state would bring death to the dynamics of creation. If there was no evolution, no progress, no motion, God would be grumpy. God would close the store and He would build something new. Oops. We cannot have that! Have you hugged your Demon today? © Ted L. Glines   series to be continued . . . . . . . . Click Here to access Page 1 of the series   Poetry by Ted L Glines Essays by Ted L Glines Short Stories by Ted L Glines Website Home Page