Well, it’s Saturday, and it’s already been an interesting weekend.  Went to Men’s Breakfast at church this morning, came home and my coffee maker had died, so Izzy and I are going out tomorrow to get a new one, thankfully, it didn’t die before I got mine this morning, just before Izzy could get hers.  Then I mowed the lawn, and I have been housework ever since…and what weekend is this?

That’s right!  It’s Labor Day!  So!  When do Dragons get time off?  Oh, I’m just bitchin’ to bitch.  I’m actually having the time of my life.  I’m trying to get my first Grief Group on base ready for Wednesday.  I’m not sure whether or not I’m going to make it or not.  It’s driving me crazy, causing me to lose sleep, I still have to get a notice ready to go out in the email for the base and a couple of other things… sigh. 

Plus, did I tell you that I have a tree down in the backyard?  Well, not really in my backyard, it’s actually through my fence and mostly in the neighbor’s backyard.  I got a bunch of the dart family coming over on Monday to take care of that.  I’ll try to remember to take pictures for you guys.  So yeah, THEY will be doing Labor on Labor Day.

Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to work?  It’s not?  No Labor on Labor Day?  Well, Hell!  How about Laffs on Labor Day, can we do that?  We can?  Okay then…

At middle age, the growth of hair on a woman’s legs slows down, which gives her plenty of time to care for her newly acquired mustache!

Thanks to Jean for this last one…It was sent in by a circular route.

We all have that funny voice we  use when talking to dogs, babies, and … idiots.

I don’t understand, but I also don’t care, so it works out.

A random baby picture of me.

I think we can conclude that the “Time Out” generation didn’t produce as good of results as the “Ass Whooping” generation.

Breaking someone’s trust is like crumpling up a perfect piece of paper.

You can smooth it over, but it’s never going to be the same again.

Apparently, 29% of pet owners let their pet sleep on the bed with them, so I gave it a try.

My goldfish died.

“Heeeerreee Orcy” said in a very sing songy voice.  “Come and get your reward.”

I can look directly at someone,
nod when they’re talking,
maybe even throw in a “yeah,”
and still not hear a single word they said…

I finally found a diet plan that really works.  It’s called “The Price of Food.”

You never know how strong you are until your power steering goes out.

We live in a world where your kid cannot pretend to be an Indian.  But a grown man can pretend to be a woman.

Courage is knowing it might hurt, and doing it anyway. 

Stupidity is the same.

And that’s why life is hard.

This is a letter that was sent to me by fellow camper John S.  I went on line and found it and I am reprinting it here because I think it’s important for everyone to read.  Please take a minute.

Subject: Bunker Boys letter to Brittney Griner
Letter to Brittney Griner
Ms, Miss, Mrs Griner is a famous female basketball player who, in the past, has
disrespected our anthem, flag and country. She is now behind bars in Russia,
charged with drug smuggling, for which she pleaded guilty. She is now screaming
that America’s umbrella of goodness should intercede on her behalf by begging the
USA embassy in Moscow to use any method of pressure to gain her release. It’s
funny that woke liberals who get into trouble overseas never cry out to the
countries that they admire to help them with their problems! The letter below
should also be sent to NBA, NFL, MLB, and others that make their living playing a
game and also disrespect our nation, its symbols, traditions, and our venerable
veterans.
————————————————————————————————–
Dear Ms. Griner,
We hope that this letter finds you in good health, and we understand you are having
some rough times in your life. We are a group of old Vietnam Combat Veterans from
North Carolina. Our average age is around seventy years old. We call ourselves “The
Bunker Boys.” We spent a lot of time living in rat and snake-infested holes in the ground
known as bunkers. When we were not in the bunkers, we were crawling through the
jungle being shot at and shooting back at little people wearing black pajamas. We must
be honest and tell you that the only thing we may have in common with you, is that we,
too, were drafted.
We noticed you were drafted number one in the WNBA draft a few years ago. Since we
were all drafted, we thought we might let you know what it was like when we were
drafted. Unlike you, most of us had no college. The people of the United States drafted
us. We consisted of all colors, religions and personal beliefs. We had no choice of which
team we played for: Army, Navy, Air Force or Marines. We were sent halfway around
the world to fight and kill people we didn’t know in a place we had never heard of. We
were paid (we know you can relate to this) $3.00 a day and required to work 24 hours a
day if needed. When we returned home, many or most of us were treated very badly by
our fellow Americans. We were spit on and hit by bottles and rocks as the police stood
by and watched. We did not complain, we just continued on in life and made the best of
it. We fought for God, family, country and, of course, the Flag and the National Anthem .
. . a poem that was written by, of all people, a lawyer. He wrote the poem as he watched
bombs fall on and kill fellow Americans. Ever since that night, our nation has played that
little poem before millions of social functions. For some people it’s just a little song. For
a Veteran it is a reminder of how many men and women of all colors have given their
lives, so the rest can have the right to be free.
We found in our research that you requested the National Anthem not to be played at
sporting events. We find it odd that now you are requesting the citizens of the United
States to pay for your release from a jail in Russia. Yes, we the taxpayers are paying for
all of those diplomats working on your release. Our government told you, and all fellow
Americans in Russia, to leave Russia after the invasion of the Ukraine. You play
basketball in a country that is known to treat Americans badly. You fly a great deal and
must know, by now, all of the rules about what one can bring into a country. All of us
that travel know the rules for entering a foreign country. You are a guest and must go by
the rules of the land. By your own admission, you were attempting to bring an illegal
substance into a country that is known for its long prison sentences. You had to know
this because you are making a million dollars a year to play a game and hold a college
degree. At six feet nine inches tall, you know that security officers are going to focus on
you from the moment you stand in the boarding pass line.
We also noticed that you are now saying you placed the drugs in your luggage by
accident. Please! That is something that an 18 year old would say. We also found out
that your net worth is somewhere around $5 million bucks for playing a game. For old
guys like us, living on a fixed income, that’s a lot of money for just playing a game. Don’t
get us wrong; we are not against you. We all went and fought, so all Americans can
have the freedom to make their own choices. We just hope that the next time you have
to endure the playing of that little poem, that you will pay close attention to the “land of
the free” part.
Wishing you the very best,
The Bunker Boys
Semper Fi

Thank you very much John.  It amazes me the people who don’t hesitate to shit on our flag and our anthem and our country and yet come running back to it when they are in trouble.  You REALLY want to know what it means to be an American?  Really and truly?  Ask a vet.  Someone who’s actually put a little blood and sweat into this country.  And thank you Bunker Boys, you’ve got the Impish Dragon coveted “DAMN!  I wish I had written that!” Award.  Bless you brothers.

This next one is from Leah H and I wouldn’t have expected it from anyone else.  Thanks Leah.

This is an actual extract from a sex education school textbook for girls, printed in the early 60’s in the UK.

When retiring to the bedroom, prepare yourself for bed as promptly as possible. Whilst feminine hygiene is of the utmost importance, your tired husband does not want to queue for the bathroom, as he would have to do for his train. But remember to look your best when going to bed. Try to achieve a look that is welcoming without being obvious. If you need to apply face-cream or hair-rollers wait until he is asleep as this can be shocking to a man last thing at night.

When it comes to the possibility of intimate relations with your husband it is important to remember your marriage vows and in particular your commitment to obey him. If he feels that he needs to sleep immediately then so be it. In all things be led by your husband’s wishes; do not pressure him in any way to stimulate intimacy. Should your husband suggest congress then agree humbly all the while being mindful that a man’s satisfaction is more important than a woman’s. When he reaches his moment of fulfilment a small moan from yourself is encouraging to him and quite sufficient to indicate any enjoyment that you may have had.

Should your husband suggest any of the more unusual practices be obedient and uncomplaining but register any reluctance by remaining silent. It is likely that your husband will then fall promptly asleep so adjust your clothing, freshen up and apply your night-time face and hair care products. You may then set the alarm so that you can arise shortly before him in the morning. This will enable you to have his morning cup of tea ready when he awakes.

I laughed so hard through this…I can only imagine what my Mary~Mae would have said about this.  Thanks for sharing Leah.  

I may not have been my mother’s favorite child, but I was the first one she thought of whenever the police turned up.

I’m not sure if I was my mom’s favorite or not, but it was probably a tie between me and my next youngest brother as to which one she would have thought of first when the police came round.  But, truth be told, we were pretty much inseparable as kids.

Paddy buys an Automatic BMW X5 sport.

He drives the car perfectly well during the day, but at night it just won’t go.

He tries driving the car at night for a week but no joy.

Really angry he calls the BMW dealers and they send out a technician to him.

He asks, “Paddy, are you sure you are using the right gears?”

Angry paddy replies, “Of course, I’m not that feckin stupid, I use D for the Day and N for the Night…”

That’s it.  But, before we go, our list of heroes is growing larger!  Here’s our Labor Day List of Heroes!!!

We are up to 18 Heroes.  There is still time for you to join the club by buying me a cup of coffee.  Not going to explain that one again, because it’s getting late and I have people coming over early tomorrow to cut up a tree.  May God Bless all of your lives (Heroes or not) and may your days be filled with Happiness and Love.