January 15, 2008

Pigs — A Modest Proposal.

Filed under: Uncategorized — Jim @ 8:52 pm

No, I am not talking about livestock here, but rather the filthy swine who insist on throwing trash on the street.

During a recent walk, I turned one of my regular corners and saw that litter was strewn in the street ahead of me for at least a half a block. One didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out how the litter got there. The trash itself told the story.

Obviously two people had picked up a ‘to go” order at McDonalds. (Two of just about everything were there, but the two large Pepsi cups were the clincher.) In addition to drinking a large soda, each pig also had a Big Mac and fries. Apparently they shared an order of McNuggets (I believe that’s what they’re called). Oh, I almost forgot. Between them, they used three ketchup packets on the fries and, of course, there were also napkins.

When these pigs finished these culinary delights, they simply pitched all the containers, wrappings, napkins, ketchup packets and the bag out of the car window. The wind took care of scattering their roadside deposit so as to cover half a block.

Yo, Jimbo. What oughta be done to assholes who do this?

Good question.

For sure, we can’t give ‘em the death penalty. Hell, nowadays in Jersey you can kill hundreds of people and be guaranteed as a matter of law not to get the juice.

How about fines?

Nah. They don’t work.

How about this? (I’m serious as a heart attack here.)

If convicted of tossing garbage on the street, there will be a mandatory jail sentence. Based on the amount of garbage tossed, the judge would have discretion to impose a jail term of from five to thirty days. But, the judge would also have discretion to suspend the sentence, if the defendant agrees that for each day of the jail sentence to spend a weekend picking up trash in the town, eight hours per day.

So, instead of five days in the slammer, the pig could spend five weekends cleaning up other pigs’ garbage from the street. Instead of thirty days in the slammer, the pig could spend thirty weekends cleaning up the streets. You don’t show up for street cleaning duty, the suspended sentence would be imposed.

Yo, Jimbo. How would the police know who threw the stuff from a car? Each person in the car could say the other guy threw the trash. Have you thought this through?

Another good question. Yes, I have considered this.

Under my rule, the driver, as the person responsible for what goes on in the car, would be legally culpable, and if it could be proven that someone other than the driver tossed the trash, then that person would get nailed as well. I figure that would go a long way toward having drivers keep their pals from tossing shit out the window.

Oh, and one more thing.

The pigs who opt for street cleaning rather than jail would have to clean the streets while wearing a reflective orange vest on which appear the words, “I’M A SLOB.”

I oughta be a judge.

October 28, 2006

Doctors and Patients.

Filed under: Uncategorized — Jim @ 1:45 pm

My buddy Brian, the Air Force Vet sent me these a while ago. Neither he nor I know whether any of these are true, but they managed to make me laugh on this coldish, rainy, dreary Saturday afternoon. I am a bit embarassed to admit that I laughed out loud at Number 3.

1. A man comes into the ER and yells, “My wife’s going to have her baby in the cab!” I grabbed my stuff, rushed out to the cab, lifted the lady’s dress and began to take off her underwear. Suddenly I noticed that there were several cabs -and I was in the wrong one.
Submitted by Dr. Mark MacDonald, San Antonio, TX.

2. At the beginning of my shift I placed a stethoscope on an elderly and slightly deaf female patient’s anterior chest wall. “Big breaths,” I instructed. “Yes, they used to be,” replied the patient.

Submitted by Dr. Richard Byrnes, Seattle, WA

3. One day I had to be the bearer of bad news when I told a wife that her husband had died of a massive myocardial infarct. Not more than five minutes later, I heard her reporting to the rest of the family that he had died of a “massive internal fart.”

Submitted by Dr. Susan Steinberg, Manitoba, Canada

4. During a patient’s two week follow-up appointment with his Cardiologist, he informed me, his doctor, that he was having trouble with one of his medications. “Which one?” I asked. “The patch. The nurse told me to put on a new one every six hours and now I’m running out of places to put it!” I had him quickly undress and discovered what I hoped I wouldn’t see. Yes, the man had over fifty patches on his body! Now, the instructions include removal of the old patch before applying a new one.

Submitted by Dr. Rebecca St. Clair, Norfolk, VA

5. While acquainting myself with a new elderly patient, I asked, “How long have you been bedridden?” After a look of complete confusion she answered…”Why, not for about twenty years – when my husband was alive.”

Submitted by Dr. Steven Swanson, Corvallis, OR

6. I was caring for a woman and asked, “So how’s your breakfast this morning?” “It’s very good, except for the Kentucky Jelly. I can’t seem to get used to the taste” the patient replied. I then asked to see the jelly and the woman produced a foil packet labeled “KY Jelly.”

Submitted by Dr. Leonard Kransdorf, Detroit, MI

7. A nurse was on duty in the Emergency Room, when a young woman with purple hair styled into a punk rocker Mohawk, sporting a variety of tattoos and wearing strange clothing, entered. It was quickly determined that the patient had acute appendicitis, so she was scheduled for immediate surgery. When she was completely disrobed on the operating table, the staff noticed that her pubic hair had been dyed green, and above it there was a tattoo that read, “Keep off the grass.” Once the surgery was completed, the surgeon wrote a short note on the patient’s dressing, which said, “Sorry, had to mow the lawn.”

Submitted by RN no name

AND FINALLY!!!…………….

8. As a new, young MD doing his residency in OB, I was quite embarrassed when performing female pelvic exams. To cover my embarrassment I had unconsciously formed a habit of whistling softly. The middle-aged lady upon whom I was performing this exam suddenly burst out laughing and further embarrassing me. I looked up from my work and sheepishly said, “I’m sorry. Was I tickling you?” She replied, “No doctor, but the song you were whistling was, “I wish I was an Oscar Meyer Wiener”.

Dr. Wouldn’t submit his name

April 25, 2006

A 7-11 Morning.

Filed under: Uncategorized — Jim @ 10:52 pm

Seven eleven cup.jpgAs is my custom, I stopped this morning at my local 7-11 to grab a cup of coffee and a pack of smokes. There was only one car in the lot when I pulled in. ”Sweet,” I thought. ”I’ll be outta there in about three minutes!” When I walked into the store, it was even better. The one car in the lot turned out to have been occupied by only one person, and that person was being waited on.

I walked briskly directly to the coffee counter and poured myself a 20 oz. black coffee. I snapped on the lid and was good to go. Money already in hand, I turned to walk to the counter. This was going to be an “in-and-out” record! This is going to be a great day.

No such luck.

It seems that the woman who was driving the one car in the lot and who was the only other person in the store, was in the process of buying an 8×11 sheet of paper full of lottery numbers. As if that wasn’t bad enough, English was not her first language.

It got worse. English was also not the first language of the guy behind the counter punching in the dizzying array of numbers, and his first language was not the same as herr first language.

It got worse yet. The lady buying seemingly every permutation of three-digit numbers (and whose first language was not English) was talking on a cell phone (in a language other than English) throughout the entire gut-wrenching process.

“Tree bippty tree, straight and box. Blah, blah, blah, blah” (in a foreign language into the phone).

“What?”

“Tree bippty tree, straight and box! Blah, blah, blah, blah (in a foreign language into the phone).

“Meed-day or eeeebening?”

“What? Blah, blah, blah, blah” (in a foreign language into the phone).

“Meed-day or eeebening?”

“Oh, meed-day and eeebening. Blah, blah, blah, blah” (in a foreign language into the phone).

I stood there during a dozen or so exchanges, watching my morning slip away and wishing I had brought a razor into the store with me so that I could open a vein. Finally, a young woman emerged from the back room and took her place behind the counter, and offered to wait on me.

Before I could even point to my coffee on the counter, her cell phone rang, and, of course, she answered it. You guessed it. Her first language was also something other than English.

“Blah, blah, blah, blah (in a foreign language into the phone). Can I help you?”

“Yes, I would like the coffee and a pack of Merit, Lights in a box, please.”

““Blah, blah, blah, blah (in a foreign language into the phone)”. This was followed by a puzzled look in my direction.

“Merit Lights in a box, please. They are the ones with yellow and brown on the pack, on the bottom shelf.”

“Blah, blah, blah, blah (in a foreign language into the phone). Dees one?” (pointing)

“No, those are Kools in a green pack on the first shelf. I would like the Merit Lights in a box on the bottom shelf, please.”

““Blah, blah, blah, blah (in a foreign language into the phone). Dees one?” (pointing)

“No, the BOTTOM SHELF, please.”

“Blah, blah, blah, blah (in a foreign language into the phone)” (points again).

“NO, down two shelves.”

“Blah, blah, blah, blah (in a foreign language into the phone)” (points again).

“NO. Over to the right!”

“Blah, blah, blah, blah (in a foreign language into the phone)” (points again).

“NO. Over one more.”

“YES! That’s it.”

She rang up my purchases while still blah, blah, blah, blahing.”

If I am ever elected King, there will be a new rule. Anyone who purports to wait on a customer while talking on a cell phone will be sentenced to thirty days of solitary confinement with Yoko Ono “music” pumped into their cell twenty-fours a day.

October 25, 2003

Make Mine Black, Please.

Filed under: Uncategorized — Jim @ 8:50 pm


Decades ago I began to drink black coffee. As I recall, giving up the milk and sugar in my coffee was just one of many little alterations I have made in a lifelong struggle to save a few calories here and there (which caloric credits, unfortunately, have often ended up being squandered on pizza and beer, but that’s another story).

At first, the black brew tasted a bit harsh, but in short order I realized that one can actually taste the coffee when one drinks it unadulterated with dairy products and sweeteners. So, switching to black coffee resulted in one of those rare bonuses in life where something non-fattening actually tasted better than the fattening variety. However, as it turns out, that was not the biggest benefit of learning to drink black coffee – not by a long shot.

The real benefit of drinking black coffee is that it seriously simplifies one’s life.

I buy my morning drive-to-work coffee in a local 7-11. Here’s the morning scene. The serve-yourself coffee is located on a counter (more like a stainless steel topped table) in a corner of the store. On either end of the table are multiple coffee pots. The cups and lids are arranged according to size in the center of the table. There are also many varieties of coffee adulterants on the table, along with stirrers.

I often walk into the place to find the table circled by a crowd of folks who are busy preparing the beverage they call coffee, but which, in reality, is coffee flavored milk and sugar. No one speaks. Arms grope all over the table to select the dairy product of choice to pour into the coffee. There are a variety of dairy products available, including skim milk, one percent milk, two percent milk, whole milk and half and half. There are also various non-dairy coffee adulterants as well, ranging from plain to the strangely flavored kinds.

Once the dairy (or non-dairy) adulterant is selected and dumped into the coffee, then comes the sweetener selection and more groping all over the table for the sweetener of choice. Some people want sugar, while others want the sweetener in the pink packet. Still others reach for the sweetener in the blue packet.

Once the sweetener is selected, next comes the “packet shake.” I’m sure you’ve seen it (or do it yourselves). The sweetener user feels obliged to shake the packet or packets (I have seen people shake five packets at a time) to ensure that the sweetener of choice is at the bottom of the packet (as if the laws of gravity hadn’t somehow already taken care of that).

The next step in the process is the packet tearing (some can tear multiple packets at one time), followed by the sweetener dump (some can dump multiple packets at a time). The sweetener dump is followed by the search for the place to put the tops of the torn packets and the now-empty packets themselves. For the non-regulars, there are puzzled looks while they wait for a regular packet shaker customer to put the empty packets in the trash so that they can follow suit.

Next comes the stirring. This requires still more cross-table groping to grab a plastic stirrer. The stirring is made more time-consuming because the stirrer is only a thin plastic stick.

They are still not done, as now comes the sipping and adjusting or “calibrating” to use a more technical term.

Sip….hmmm…Not sweet enough…Repeat packet shaking, packet tearing, sweetener dumping and trash searching. Stir again. Sip again.

Sip…hmmmToo hot…Add more dairy (or non-dairy) adulterant. Stir again. Sip again.

Sip…hmmmToo weak…Add more coffee. Stir again. Sip again.

Sip…hmmmToo strong…Add more dairy (or non-dairy) adulterant. Stir again. Sip again.

Sip…hmmmThe cup not full enough for the price…Add a little more of everything. (Always a favorite of mine). Stir again. Sip again.

Sip…hmmmThe cup is too full…Drink more. It’s like getting a couple sips for free. (Another favorite of mine).

Once the stirrer is tossed into the trash, the morning coffee drinker is ready to put the lid on the paper cup and proceed to the register.

Not me.

I walk up to the table of modern-day alchemists, pour the coffee in the cup, snap on a lid, and, “See ya.”

The same holds true at the office. When I want a cup of coffee, I just go and pour myself a cup. I needn’t worry whether there is milk in the refrigerator, whether it might belong to someone else, whether it might be sour, or whether there is a ready supply of sugar or other sweeteners on hand. Pour and go. Snap City.

Black coffee. Try it. You’ll like it. And, your life will be a whole lot simpler. I bullshit you not.

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