You bought that guitar from a store? Got it for Christmas?
Stop! Stop stop stop!
Stop playing the Blues!
You don’t have the right to play the Blues.
The old Bluesmen were so poor, they made their instruments out of whatever was lying around.
Screen doors, busted-down car radiators… even their little brothers and sisters.
You don’t make instruments out of your big brothers and sisters because they can beat you up.
And you don’t make em out of gramma and grampa because they smell funny.
So put down that guitar, get poor, and learn.
Learn, and earn the Blues.
Tag: society
Blender
I love my new immersion blender.
Instead of using a hard-to-clean pitcher with blades in it that had be run through the dishwasher every time, I’m now using a stick with a set of blades on the end that I can just run under the faucet to clean.
I no longer have to go to Starbucks for frozen coffee slushes either. I just toss ice, chocolate sauce, cold coffee, and Bailey’s into a thick oversized mug, blend it for a while, and I’m done.
I still drop a dollar in a glass for a tip, though. Hard habit to break.
Cripple the cripple
Gordon Kane bet Stephen Hawking $100 that the Higgs-Boson exists.
And won, but despite acknowledging this, Stephen Hawking has yet to pay up.
How do you collect on that kind of bet?
It’s not like you can call your cousins from New Jersey into leaning on the guy.
“So, you think you’re some kind of smart guy?” your cousin Lenny says, and then he realizes, yes, this cripple in the wheelchair with the robot voice talking about black holes and galaxies is really damn smart.
At least he can’t put up much of a fight when they break his legs.
Flower Shop
The whole town loves Evelyn’s flower shop.
It’s a nice store, right there on Main Street.
The awning needs a bit of work. And the paint’s faded on the glass on the door.
She keeps saying she’ll touch it up, but she never does.
The flowers are pretty. She grows them herself in greenhouses behind her house, right outside of town.
There, she plants the seeds, keeps the plants fed and watered.
She cuts her finger, sings the magic spell, and rubs the blood on silver shears.
Snip.
Snip.
And we all love her shop just a little bit more.
People Are Stupid
Most people are stupid.
Despite the fact that most people are stupid, a tiny few are smart, and they come up with the things that keep the stupid ones from screwing it all up.
It only takes a few smart ones to invent things. And even smarter ones to dumb that stuff down so the stupid ones stop falling off cliffs or getting eaten by bears.
The extremely smart people want to let the bears eat the dumb ones and live in stupidity-free peace.
Which, I suppose, proves that the smart people aren’t as smart as they think they are.
Formation
Sitting in my living room, sipping a cup of tea, I heard the most unusual noise.
It was either a security airship passing, or three dozen lawnmowers flying overhead.
An airship was the likely source of the noise, since the most lawnmowers I’ve seen flying in formation was seven.
And it wasn’t so much as a flying formation of them, but a delivery truck striking a lamp post and its contents being strewn throughout the roadway.
So, it’s probably an airship.
Or the man next door, who makes odd noises like that.
His imitation of a cow is impressive, though.
Tilda
Bubba and Billy Bob had never been to New York.
So when they won a Broadway Weekend in the church raffle, they were in for the shock of their lives.
The buildings… traffic… lights… noise…
And…
“That’s the alien who busted up my truck and anal probed me!” hissed Bubba.
“You sure?” whispered Billy Bob.
Bubba nodded, and the men followed the pale gangly figure down the street until they managed to catch and drag it off.
They’d never been to the movies, or heard of Tilda Swinton.
And she wouldn’t anal probe Bubba, no matter how much he begged.
Nothing is off the table
My boss, the President, says that nothing is off the table.
Nothing’s fallen off of it, either. It’s a very sturdy table. Unlike most tables, which have a bit of wobble in them due to uneven legs or a warp in the floorboards.
Sometimes, he puts beverages on the table. I make sure there’s plenty of coasters for them.
You know, because coasters count, too. Nothing’s off of the table, remember?
Oh, and dust. Lots of dust on that table. Dust isn’t nothing, either.
I just know it’s not easy to dust when you can’t take anything off the table.
Uncle Tom’s Cabin
Whenever I need to get away, I pack a bag and head up to my dad’s old cabin in the woods.
For years, I’ve been doing this, chopping wood to feed into the stove, watching the snow fall, and reading by candlelight.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said to his framed photograph.
It was hanging a bit askew, so I straightened it.
Something fell from behind it.
A letter:
“Dear Son,
This cabin actually belonged to my brother Tom. He’s buried under the floor.
Love,
Dad”
So, I thanked my Uncle Tom, tossed another log on the fire, and made some coffee.
The Guy In 7B
Nobody knows the name of the guy in 7B.
What little mail he gets is addressed to Resident or Occupant.
He must have a post office box somewhere in the city.
If you walk up to him and introduce yourself, he’ll say “Yes, I know you, how are you doing?” but not introduce himself back.
I did a search online, but there’s nothing about him.
Don’t bother trying to look through his trash. He shreds everything beyond recognition.
The super won’t tell me.
So, I called him 7B.
“How did you know my name?” he screamed.
And promptly moved out.