Mitchell Way
“And we are back.”
“Tonight on our segment, ‘DUNDERHEADS IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD’ we ask the question, ‘Is it possible for a man to wash a whole package of Kleenex in a load of wash and if so, what are the consequences? For an answer to this, let’s go to our man on the street, Eine Parodie.”
As I lay on my back under the stars I wonder, “Is that the Aurora Borealis or is my headache causing my vision to shift?”
As I lay on my back under the stars I wonder, “Is that the space station or a really, really, really high jet and if I had a flashlight could it see my twinkling light shining up at it?”
I have long suspected that we have ghosts in our house. The original structure was built in 1890 so it has a lot of history. One night during the time we were giving it a complete renovation, I was upstairs pulling ship lap boards off the walls and tossing them through a hole to a pile outside. It was 10:00 pm and there was no light except my one bulb shop light, although I was there by myself I could hear children’s voices and I stopped several times to shine the light around the empty house to see if I could find the source. Later one of my young step-sons told me he was afraid of the lamp beside his bed because a face would appear in the lampshade.
Say guys, are you tired of sweltering hot days where the perspiration running off your head ruins that freshly permed $56.00 haircut? Tired of having sweat stains in your Grecian Formula leaving you looking like a leopard? Do what I did. I got the Extended Face Kit which includes extensions all the way to the back of my shoulders.
I was standing in line at the movie theater waiting to buy a ticket when I heard two twenty-somethings making comments about a slowpoke elderly man. They couldn’t mean me. There has got to be someone else in this line who is older than me. I will just casually turn around and see who they are talking about.
Nuts! It was me.
It must have been close to eleven o clock. I was in bed drifting in and out of sleep when I heard the bedroom door pop open. I felt the covers move and the bed settle.
This was the scene last Saturday morning. I was lying in the middle of the Guide Meridian, motorcycle helmet and protective coveralls on. Slowly I was able to get up on my hands and knees and crawl back over to the side walk.
Never, never, ever use Rogaine ™ that has gone beyond its expiration date.
Snow skiing ranks quite high on my list of humiliations and though, through the years I have impressed others with an innate ability to humiliate myself continuously on the ski slopes, last year’s little incident which I call, “the getting to know you ride,” sums up my life on the slopes.
Actually the idea should have worked. The premise was this: “The Fall Out Team”, namely Neutron (me), Atom (Myron Voth), Proton (John Zylstra), and Electron (Rex Ely) were highlighted as possibly showing up at a high school rally of 800 kids in the Seattle area.
When moms have their first born child they tend to want to try out every thing they learned in High School home economics class. In my case, how to sew a circus jacket. All I really wanted to do was to run around the yard and chase the cat with a stick. So we struck up a bargain; if she could sew me suits, I could chase that cat around the yard with a stick. This agreement continued up until I graduated from high school.
And so you see, this is what happens when you are singing, “The hills are alive with the sound of music” and a hawk swoops down and grabs your toupee.
Being intrigued by the constant barrage of late night TV ads which challenge you to find your lineage, I signed up with Ancestory.com and traced my family back to medieval times in ancient Britain. Knowing for sure that I must be a descendant of King Arthur or Sir Lancelot, I was sorely disappointed to learn that my oldest relative on record was an extremely colorblind and nearsighted foot soldier named Larry who accidentally chopped up seven of his own fellow warriors in battle before being reminded that the Vikings were the ones coming to shore from off of the boats. O well. He wasn’t a bad looking dude though.
Last night my grand dog Milton Barry and I were sitting on the living room couch telling stories. He starts telling me how he fought in the great Dog and Cat War of the 1950s. I know he’s lying because he can’t possibly be that old but I let him ramble on and I try to keep a straight face because I know that out of courtesy he listens to my lies too.