Random Sh**

 

 

Topic ideas.

Not worthy of a post on their own but enough ideas & stupid stuff to lump together in what I call “Random Sh**.”

Ready?

Let’s begin…

 

Bread Ties

Of all the problems in our world today it seems petty to bicker about bread ties, but here goes.

Some days I conquer opening a bread tie with ease.  Then there are other days I twist & twist to no avail.  So I re-twist thinking this must be the way.  When that doesn’t work I re-re-twist in the original direction to open the bag.

It sometimes is quicker just to bake a brand-new loaf!

How this little wire frustrates me.

There is a little known bread tie ‘code of conduct’ you should follow.

Whether one twists to the right or to the left, please keep this rule in mind:

TWO TWISTS of a bread tie are optimal and sufficient.

Less than two twists and you are just plain lazy.  More than two twists and you should be punished because you are simply showing off.  It is bread.  Just bread, not the Shroud of Turin.

Twist it twice and be done with it.

 

Slow

 

That’s me.  Slow.

I walk slow.  Think slow.  Pee slow.  Drive slow.  Dress slow.  Eat slow.  Shower slow.  Talk slow.  Decide slow.

Slow is my new moniker.

Thanks MS.

 

 

TV Spin-Offs

This tv-season, the popular sitcom “Black-ish” offers up a spin-off series called “Mixed-ish.”

I thought of a couple other shows…

 

“Brack-ish” is a show about a body of murky water.

 

 

 

 

In these days of LGBTQIA, why not a show of questioning identity called “Boy-ish Girl-ish.”

 

 

 

Scary Sight

It is sad to see but the seasonal Halloween store has set up inside our empty Toys R Us building.

Maybe they should paint fangs on Geoffrey the Giraffe.  Give him menacing eyes.  Foaming at the mouth.  A rabid giraffe.

I didn’t go inside but it can’t be any scarier than shopping at Toys R Us on Black Friday.

Man, that was life threatening!

 

 

Batter Up

It’s October.  Time for baseball’s post-season play.

Baseball players are known for spitting.  Always spitting.  On the field.  At the plate.  In the dugout.  Spitting.

Even in Little League kids would spit.  All except me.  I was a terrible spitter.  Never learned the technique.

Teammates would spit here.  Spit there.  Tight, little phlegm balls with perfect accuracy & trajectory.  Meanwhile, mine would end up hanging from my lower lip or chin.  I was pitiful.

While the others would spit when they stepped up tp bat, I had a different, awkward and shameful habit.  I would reach around and give a quick tug–pulling my underwear & baseball pants from my butt crack.

It was embarrassing as all eyes were on me.  But I needed to be comfortable and my tighty-whities & baseball pants were strangling me from behind.  Or so it seemed.  I knew it wasn’t right but I couldn’t break the habit.  I couldn’t spit.  I was an ass-picker.

 

Well you were warned this post was random sh**.  I hope you enjoyed the ride.

Keep moving.