I Stand Corrected!
Not that young…
Okay, let the presses roll again. Let’s undo what we have done.
In the previous post, I mentioned Dr T’s new squeeze. In the process I mistakenly gave her age as twenty years his senior. Oopsie! That should be ‘junior,’as in sweet young thang he’s occupying dark corners and park benches with. Since Dr T is of an age where they now pay you to stay alive, (aka Social Security) a lass twenty years his senior would be the age of Barbara Stanwyck or Doris Day. Remember Loverboy? “She’s my grayest lady; My lady will be eighty!”
The New Girl is hardly that. The good Dr has confided that she’s his ideal body type, and they are like a pair of teenagers when together. (“It’s getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes…”) They are a charming couple, and I am so happy they have found each other.
So, no, Dr T isn’t out banging octogenarians. (“A whole new wrinkle!”) He’s chasing the firm flesh of the young. As my dearly departed bro-in-law used to say, “Bite her in the ass, pray for lockjaw, and hope she drags you to death.”
It would not be out of character for Dr T to point at a lovely lass and say, “Check out the gorgeous gams on that one!”
If he were dating 80-year-olds? “Hey, check out the gums on that one!”
The Pearl Invasion
Ready for some grits in your gravy? The Pearl Invasion has begun.
Happy Holidays. Really.
Howdee!
Assplosion! 2015
Hey Squirt!
“Aw shit.”
“Hope everything comes out okay!”
Or from my boss Eva, the delicate German flower, “How’s the poop-chute, Charlie?”
As age 55 approaches, I have had to make concessions about staying young forever. My youthful smile is now 75% prosthetic, my formerly twelve-pack abs are now holding a forty or so. My hair is mostly still red. In order to keep this old ball a rolling, I have to stay ahead of the game. Hence, preventive medicine.
Doctors have been coming at me with the garden hose for five years now. “Let us have a look up there?” I have had no symptoms or history, but when Obamacare kicked in, and I could start doing some of these things regular people do? I jumped on the chance.
Did I say jumped? More like I stepped up cautiously…
Just Me. Again.
Worn and Torn
We are right on schedule. My face is smooth as a baby’s butt until 5 PM, after which sandpaper-grading is required. And Rain has left the building. She’s been gone three nights, and I am happy about it.
I am also sad about it.
But mostly happy….
Kicking Upstairs
There are a lot of new people at work. Last weekend I told people I wasn’t memorizing any new names until Monday. I saved three spaces in my lump of cranial Swiss cheese. One quit, one gave notice, and one has diarrhea.
One of the newbies has promise. He’s the former fiancé of another new hire, and more on the ball than usual. Yesterday he was called to work just as he arrived home from work. He did an about-face and worked until midnight. Then came back for day shift.
Lord Diarrhea called in again. Southie was running the operation, as Master P and Grinder were taking long weekends. After exhausting his options, he called the new guy and left a message: “Can you work three more hours?”
There was no answer. I told Southie, “The last thing I said was: “Don’t answer the phone. ”
“You asshole!”
Oh well. After fifteen -hour days a kid needs a nap. He was smart enough to let the call go to voicemail.
A few minutes later, after Southie had called or texted everyone possible, an alternative had been found. It cost Southie an extra twenty bucks cash, but the shift was covered. I texted Festus, who was in the cashier protection program. (Day off.) “You can come out now, it’s been taken care of. ”
Southie retreated to the office, and I patted myself on the back for resisting a more managerial position. It can be lonely at the top.
A few minutes later, as I was texting Festus the gossip, I noticed a blur in my line of vision. What’s this, a Big Mac?
Nope. When the new kid was finishing his long-ass day, I had shared a fair portion of my cinnamon roll with him. It was a free one that Weird Steven had dropped off. “Free is a very good price! ” as Tom Peterson used to say. The new kid agreed, and I told him of some of our roadkill victories, and especially where he could a good deal on cinnamon rolls. I thought no more about it until I saw the flash.
Buns up!
And now the night is in transition. It’s already dark, and the wine thieves are wandering like zombies.
I don’t care. Anything to keep my mind off that cinnamon roll. .
Dingleberry Gazette 