Want to know what the number one song in America was on the day you were born, or on any date since 1940? It’s here.

For what it’s worth, the number one tune on the day I was born was a little ditty called “Rumors Are Flying” by Frankie Carle. And, no, it was not played by The Neanderthal Five slamming rocks together.

Via TigerHawk

During one of my walks over the weekend, I saw a guy who was, as they say, “up in years” and who did not look all that steady on his feet, fire up a chainsaw to begin the process of cutting down a tree and then turning the big pieces of tree into smaller pieces of tree. I averted my eyes, lest I end up seeing what can happen when Mr. Chainsaw meets flesh and bone.

That got me to thinking of things that you are not likely to see Jimbo doing. In fact, you are more likely to get hit in the head with a piece of space junk than you are to see Jimbo engaging in any of the following activities.

1. Operating a chainsaw. These things really are fearsome and mondo-violent tools. Hell, they even sound angry. I shudder to think of what one of those monsters would do to various body parts should one lose control of it. I suppose if I had to cut wood to survive, I would use one, but I don’t, so I won’t, thank you.

2. Skiing. I went skiing a couple times in my yoot, and it did nothing for me. Skiers a bit on the crazy side, if you ask me. For example, on those occasions when I did give skiing a try, the people I was with thought it a stroke of great fortune that we were driving three hours in a farookin’ blizzard to get to the ski resort. “Great skiing, man.” I was thinking, ”Hell, I might drive for three hours in a blizzard to rescue a downed pilot, but to go skiing? No thanks.” I also don’t think I ever appreciated the supposed rush one feels when hurling one’s self down a mountain. Perhaps that’s because I was never more than a beginner, but I don’t think so. I was always happiest in the saloon at the bottom of the hill.

Now that I have about run out of yoot, I am even more mindful that joints are not made to bend in all directions and broken bones are a serious disaccommodation. That’s why there is little chance that you’ll see Jimbo schussing down any damned mountains.

3. Hunting. I know quite a few folks who love to hunt, and that’s fine. Just don’t bother inviting me. I have never been hunting, and I have no desire to go. It’s not a safety-related thing. I’d feel much safer hunting than I would running a chainsaw or skiing. I just never found all that blood and guts to be particularly alluring. In addition, the idea of getting up at crack of dawn, spraying myself with some form of animal piss and sitting in a tree for hours on end doesn’t do it for me. Nor, for that matter, does hiding in a bunch of reeds or weeds trying my damndest to sound like a duck.

4. Applying for a Home Depot Credit Card. I get an instant Case of the Ass each time I have to enter that place. Power tools, lumber, electrical, and plumbing shit … oy!