Well, today is Friday, tomorrow is Saturday … Valentine’s Day, and I’ve already completed tomorrow’s episode and didn’t remember that it was V-day. Not that I particularly cared on my part. Mary and I never really did anything special on Valentine’s Day, both of us feeling it was basically a made up holiday to sell stuff. If you need a special day to be romantic then you don’t have a real relationship to begin with. We were both Valentines Day romantic with each other throughout the year. We didn’t need a special day…even when we were dating.

Anyway, my apologies to anyone who was expecting something special.

The world is going nuts, my life is deeply entrenched in such. So we all need some laughter to see us through.

I’m not normally one for fart jokes, but that one was too good to not share.

Just like a woman to complain. Come on! He shoveled!

I had actually did a search for something else and this popped up on line. This is a carving that my dad did many years ago that appeared on the cover of this wood carving magazine. Dad was an amazing artist in many fields. For many years in the area where he lived, they had to ask him to judge the wood carving competitions because then he couldn’t enter. Because when other carvers found out he was entering they wouldn’t because they knew they couldn’t win.  This was not the only time he was featured on the cover of this magazine.

Officers were in a physical struggle with an armed suspect when a gun was perceived and the word “gun” was shouted. Under settled self-defense law, officers are entitled to rely on fellow officers’ reasonable perceptions. They do not have to personally confirm the threat.

These next six are from Lynn … Take a Second Look:

This photo looks a bit odd at first glance, but give it a second look, and you’ll see your eyes were just playing some mischievous tricks.

Mmm, who doesn’t love a good, gooey pastry for breakfast or snack time? But hold the sugar, folks! We’ve stumbled upon a batch of pastries that just won’t do. These slithering, hissing delights may look like they’re begging to be devoured, but we’ll have to pass. Why would anyone pass on a delicious glazed donut? Well, take a long look because these donuts might have some serious repercussions if you take a bite!

Who knew pastry danger was a real thing?

Photos like this can completely alter your perception of reality! The mind can really play tricks on you, and this boat in the ocean, which is a leather couch, is proof enough.

Don’t look over these photos too quickly, or you might miss what they really are! Just like this sea urchin turned curly-haired diver!

At first glance, those ducks swimming around the pond look like they’re having the time of their lives. But upon closer inspection, it’s revealed that they’re actually motorcycles drowning! The handlebars peeking through give it away, but for a moment there, it was a case of “what the duck?” 

This is an amazingly clear photo of Jupiter from a telescope! You can see so much detail on this planet, from the colors and texture to even little animals. That’s right; there are ducks, grass, and even bodies of water. Who would have thought that Jupiter could be so… duck-friendly? Okay, so maybe it’s not Jupiter, but it sure does look like it.

Okay, so this one is a VERY cool website to visit.  Thanks to Stephanie for sending this one in.

35 Extremely Obvious Things Everyone On Earth Should Know I Just Learned For The First Time That Completely And Totally Blew My Mind

Now I get it.

Okay…I have to jump in here. This is NOT a torpedo. Not even CLOSE to a torpedo.

Well, gee Impish, how do YOU know? Are you a torpedo expert?

Nope, not a torpedo expert. But, I probably am an expert on what THAT is. That, my dear friends, is a BDU-33 practice bomb. They go on airplanes, not submarines. They weight 25 pounds and are painted blue (for practice). And over my 13 year Air Force bomb loading career, I may have loaded hundreds of thousands of pounds worth of them.  I probably didn’t hit a million, but I’ll bet it was close.  An average day could have seen us slam 300 of them, easy.  So, let’s do the math.  Thinking that I didn’t do that my whole career because some years I was in the gun shop. So let’s say 6 years. And let’s say that 3 days a week we loaded an average of 200 25 lb bombs. Now that doesn’t count the big bombs that we loaded regularly either. So, 3 days a week x 52 weeks a year x 6 years x 200 bombs a day x 25 lbs a bomb = (boy was I wrong!!!) 4,680,000 pounds of practice bombs!!!! 

Holy cow, I’ve never done that before.  I suppose that does make me an expert.

I laughed so hard!

Shouldn’t that be a given?

A man can’t be too careful in the choice of his enemies.

– Oscar Wilde (1854-1900)

Dear Ma and Pa:


I am well. Hope you are. Tell Brother Walt and Brother Elmer the Marine Corps beats working for old man Minch by a mile. 

Tell them to join up quick before maybe all of the places are filled. 

I was restless at first because you got to stay in bed till nearly 6 a.m., but am getting so I like to sleep late.


Tell Walt and Elmer all you do before breakfast is smooth your cot and shine some things. 

No hogs to slop, feed to pitch, mash to mix, wood to split, fire to lay. Practically nothing. 

Men got to shave but it is not so bad, there’s warm water.


Breakfast is strong on trimmings like fruit juice, cereal, eggs, bacon, etc., but kind of weak on chops, potatoes, ham, steak, fried eggplant, pie and other regular food. 

But tell Walt and Elmer you can always sit by the two city boys that live on coffee. 

Their food plus yours holds you till noon, when you get fed again.


It’s no wonder these city boys can’t walk much. 

We go on “route” marches, which the Platoon Sergeant says are long walks to harden us. 

If he thinks so, it is not my place to tell him different. 

A “route march” is about as far as to our mailbox at home. 

Then the city guys get sore feet and we all ride back in trucks. The country is nice, but awful flat.

The Sergeant is like a schoolteacher. He nags some. 

The Capt. is like the school board. Majors and Colonels just ride around and frown. 

They don’t bother you none.

This next will kill Walt and Elmer with laughing. I keep getting medals for shooting. I don’t know why. 

The bulls-eye is near as big as a Chipmunk head and don’t move. 

And it ain’t shooting at you, like the Higgett boys at home. 

All you got to do is lie there all comfortable and hit it. 

You don’t even load your own cartridges. They come in boxes.

Then we have what they call hand-to-hand combat training. 

You get to wrestle with them city boys. I have to be real careful though, they break real easy. It ain’t like fighting with that ole bull at home. 

I’m about the best they got in this except for that Tug Jordan from over in Silver Lake. 

He joined up the same time as me. But I’m only 5’6″ and 130 pounds and he’s 6’8″ and weighs near 300 pounds dry. 

Be sure to tell Walt and Elmer to hurry and join before other fellers get onto this setup and come stampeding in.

Your loving daughter,

Gail

That used to be me ALL THE TIME!!!!!  Two things changed for me. The first helped some: My dear Mary’s faith in God’s grace.  And the second, sadly, helped a lot. My own faith in God’s grace, which came as strongly as it should have been, only after the passing of my dear Mary. And one day … one day probably soon, my own testimony story will probably be a Last Word in here. That will be tough, since just writing this has got me crying.  

I have said it over and over and over again.

Look at it this way, if it’s in the Bible, it’s the truth. It’s God’s Word. It doesn’t change, it’s not outdated, it is what we need to live by. If a pastor tells you anything different, he … or she … is an impastor. 

A marriage broker goes to see Mr. Cohen, a confirmed bachelor for many years.

“Mr Cohen, don’t let it get too late. I have exactly the woman you need.  

You only have to say the word and you’ll meet and be married in no time!” says the marriage broker.

“Don’t bother,” replies Mr. Cohen, “I’ve two sisters at home, who look after all my needs….I am happy with that arrangement.”

“That’s all well and good, but all the sisters in the world cannot fill the role of a wife.”

“I said ‘two sisters’…. I didn’t say they were mine!” 

“So tell me, Mrs. Smith,” asked the interviewer, “have you any other skills you think might be worth mentioning?” 

“Actually, yes,” said the applicant modestly. “Last year I had two short stories published in national magazines, and I finished my novel.”

“Very impressive,” he commented, “but I was thinking of skills you could apply during office hours.” 

Mrs. Smith explained brightly, “Oh, that was during office hours.” 

Georgia  Law

No one may carry an ice cream cone in their back pocket if it is Sunday. 

This is dedicated to all women everywhere who have ever had to deal with a public toilet. And it finally explains to all you men what takes us so long. 

My mother was a fanatic about public toilets. As a little girl, she’d bring me in the stall, teach me to wad up toilet paper and wipe the seat. 

Then, she’d carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat. Finally, she’d instruct, “Never, never sit on a public toilet seat.” 

And she’d demonstrate “The Stance,” which consisted of balancing over the toilet in a sitting position without actually letting any of your flesh make contact with the toilet seat. 

But by this time, I’d have peed down my leg. And we’d go home. 

That was a long time ago. I’ve had lots of experience with public toilets since then, but I’m still not particularly fond of public toilets, especially those with powerful, red-eye sensors. 

Those toilets know when you want them to flush. 

They are psychic toilets. But I always confuse their psychic ability by following my mother’s advice and assuming The Stance. 

The Stance is excruciatingly difficult to maintain when one’s bladder is especially full. This is most likely to occur after watching a full-length feature film. 

During the movie pee, it is nearly impossible to hold The Stance. You know what I mean. You drink a two liter cup of Diet Coke, then sit still 
through a three-hour saga because, for God’s sake, even if you didn’t wipe or wash your hands in the bathroom, you’d still miss the pivotal 
part of the movie or the second scene, in which they flash the leading man’s naked derriere. 

So, you cross your legs and you hold it. And you hold it until that first credit rolls and you sprint to the bathroom, about ready to explode all over your internal organs. 

And at the bathroom, you find a line of women that makes you think there’s a half-price sale on Mel Gibson’s underwear in there. 

So, you wait and smile politely at all the other ladies, also crossing their legs and smiling politely. And you finally get closer. 

You check for feet under the stall doors. Every one is occupied. You hope no one is doing frivolous things behind those stall doors, like blowing her nose or checking the contents of her wallet.

Finally, a stall door opens and you dash, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won’t latch. It doesn’t matter. 

You hang your handbag on the door hook, yank down your pants and assume The Stance. 

Relief. More relief. Then your thighs begin to shake. You’d love to sit down but you certainly hadn’t taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold The Stance as your thighs experience a quake that would register an eight on the Richter scale. To take your mind off it, you reach for the toilet paper. Might as well be ready when you are done. The toilet paper dispenser is empty. 

Your thighs shake more. You remember the tiny napkin you wiped your fingers on after eating buttered popcorn. It would have to do. You crumble it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail. 

Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn’t work and your  pocketbook whams you in the head. “Occupied!” you scream as you reach out for the door, dropping your buttered popcorn napkin in a puddle and falling backward, directly onto the toilet seat. 

You get up quickly, but it’s too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with all the germs and life forms on the bare seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper, not that there was any, even if you had enough time to. 

Your mother would be utterly ashamed of you if she knew, because her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, “You don’t know what kind of diseases you could get.” 

By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, sending up a stream of water akin to a fountain and then it suddenly sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged to China. 

At that point, you give up. You’re finished peeing. You’re soaked by the splashing water. You’re exhausted. You try to wipe with a Chicklet wrapper you found in your pocket, then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. 

You can’t figure out how to operate the sinks with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past a line of women, still waiting, cross-legged and unable to smile politely at this point. 

One kind soul at the very end of the line points out that you are trailing a piece of toilet paper on your shoe as long as the Mississippi River. 

You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman’s hand and say warmly, “Here You might need this.” 

At this time, you see your spouse, who has entered, used and exited his bathroom and read a copy of War and Peace while waiting for you. 

“What took you so long?” he asks, annoyed. This is when you kick him sharply in the shin and go home. 

Thanks for listening to me.

Thanks for laughing with me.