So It’s Mid-August—Whad’ya Mean Summers Over?

It used to be that when June rolled around people started looking to get away from it all. Plans were made to escape the everyday grind. No more snow and very little rain meant folks started venturing out again. No more feeling like Jack Nicholson did at the very end of “The Shining.”

Summers over? Already?

By June most of us were ready for the good old summertime. After the Fourth of July holiday had passed, the middle of summer was setting in, thus signaling the time for barbecues with family and friends. By the time August came around, you were ready to take that summer getaway.

But wait… whats this? Our kids have to head back to school mid to late August now? But we haven’t taken our traditional summer family vacation yet. And what bozo made that decision? Whats that? The schools!

Well… lets take vacation anyway—I mean after all, our kids are back in school! Besides, we’ve always taken our summer vacation in August—kids or not!

Okay, okay the kids can come along, but we’ll have to get the teachers to sign off on it. Whad’ya mean the teachers are complaining about having to draw up some homework for the kids to do while they’re on vacation? Don’t they understand its August, and that not all families can take vacations in June or July?

I mean come on, there’s nothing like leaving Disneyland in the middle of the evening to go back to our hotel room, just so we can do hours of homework with the kids.

In fact, I can’t think of anything kids love more. Except maybe having their teeth worked on by the dentist during a root canal. 

Remember when schools used to start the academic year right after the Labor Day holiday—when it really felt like summer was actually nearing its end?

You remember that don’t you? Dad wore his loin-clothe, and mom used a bone in her hair instead of a hairpin, and dinosaurs roamed the earth.

But now schools need your summer vacation money more than ever, and the sooner the better.

If they wait until September to have your kids start school, they run the risk of angering parents when they send home picture day announcements on top of requesting donations for supplies, the cost of gym clothes, PTA memberships, and fund raising (gift wrap is real popular) for the first part of the school year.

And lets not forget special activities like, band, sports, after school clubs, and field trips—not to mention prepaid lunch money.

You don’t mind though, after all, you’ve only gone into hock to buy your kids new clothes so that they won’t attend school in the hand me down rags they’ve worn since the day they were born—and those barely fit! Not to mention backpacks that will be worn out, and school supplies which will be exhausted by Christmas break.

If you ever stop sending your child to school… the schools will go broke! Better you than them though, right?

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Just Put It In The Bag

In the beginning (circa 1980), cave dweller, Grog, sent forth his wife to shop for a little T-Rex steak—eventually a 7 ton T-Rex returned, but not the wife. Time passed, future wives would return, but now with T-Bone steaks. This turn of events left Grog wondering…

“How wife evolve better than Grog and—where T-Rex?”

This is the question man has been vexed by ever since the dawn of woman, especially when the woman comes back with an SUV jammed full of food. Now, when I go out to grab the groceries, my family has to call for rescue dogs to find me under the avalanche of food that spills out.

Then my wife proudly announces, “And I stayed under budget!”

At this point all I can think to ask is, “Where did the new SUV come from, she left in a five year old two-door sedan?”

For years I’d given my wife a grocery budget to work with; it’s called my entire paycheck…I have no say in the matter, its an accepted rule. Her rule, my acceptance.

Yet, time and time again, she keeps coming back.

And with more groceries than I ever dreamed possible, plus, she keeps all the surplus cash! I have to know the secret to the ten cart haul—and her newly flush Swiss bank account?

Thus began my campaign to get to the bottom of shoppergate. Every time she grabbed the keys to go out shopping for groceries I’d get on my knees, bring my hands together under my chin, and begin begging her to let me go instead. One day, when the tears began streaming down my cheeks, she asked…

“Why do you want to go grocery shopping so much… you hate lines?” I replied, “Because I’m hungry?”

Finally, I was getting to go grocery shopping—and I was doing it willingly, but for one terrifying moment. I feared my wife (thinking I was running a temperature), might reach for the anal thermometer, fortunately, she fainted instead.

When she woke up and said she’d accompany me to the Wal-Mart to help me shop…I fainted!

“Wal-Mart has a grocery store?” I screamed, while being revived with smelling salts. My wife said, “Yes. WHERE have you been Grog?”

I was half tempted to say, passed out, but thought better of it, for fear of being called a smart-ass. Thus, I avoided a possible concussion from a frying-pan out of nowhere.

So off we both went to Wal-Mart, like two people having just won a chance to be on the original Supermarket Sweep, but with all the time in the world to fill our carts.

We sailed up and down the isles, grabbing everything in sight. Finally we arrived at a self-checkout stand where my wife insisted I bag, and she scan. At first, nothing could have been easier. Item, after item was ran over the scanner by my wife, and with blinding speed.

All of a sudden there was a beep. I paused for only a second, but then continued packing. Then, two carts later, another beep occurred. This time my curiosity was aroused and I stopped my wife, asking her what the beep was for? Without slowing down for a second, she smiled and said…

“Keep packing.”

As instructed, I did as she said, but another beep stopped me dead in my tracks. When I tried to ask ‘whats up’, she grabbed what was in my hand and said, “Just put it in the bag.” I put the last bag into the second cart and turned to see my wife paying the amount owed; $4.78. “What a steal!” I thought.

I had no idea, that is, until I reached the exit where I was confronted by a kindly old gentleman. My wife continued on out. The old man looked at the receipt, then took one look at both carts, smiled at me, and I at him—and now I’m allowed one phone call.

Boy…has my wife evolved!

No, Not Another Death Star!

I admit I was only suspicious at first; the idea of an evil Empire being bought by Disney? But then it occurred to me; who better than the Disney people. Lets face it; who has all the money, all the power, all the influence, and now—The Force? Folks; DISNEY IS BUILDING ANOTHER DEATH STAR!

Why at this very minute, I’m willing to bet Darth Vader (with his new mouse ears helmet—designed by Disney Imagineers) is thinking up ways to prevent, yet another weakness being identified by the Rebel Alliance, which could result in another Death Star explosion. Think of the insurance risk!

Not to mention the fallout. Heads will roll… and they might be ours. But, he really should talk to Farmers.

Right now I suspect that more than a few of you out there are thinking, “this guy is probably more than a little crazy.” And I’m guessing the rest of you—are absolutely certain of it!

However, I feel it my responsibility to warn all of the human-race of an impending doom—with the possible exception of ISIS, Al Qaeda, and Marty Gunther—who used to beat me up all the time throughout the fourth grade after school.

When George Lucas first started running the Star Wars Empire, he didn’t have the kind of money, power, and influence required to build a powerful intergalactic juggernaut capable of universal mass destruction. This was no doubt due to his wanting to build Lucas Ranch in Marin County instead.

So he had to borrow money from a movie studio in Hollywood. You’ve heard of Hollywood? Well it used to be a planet, still is, only now its known as Planet Hollywood. Anyway,  they know a thing or two about promoting an idea—that’s not yet a reality.

Then one day the Disney Empire, who has its fingers into everything (and apparently connections with former President Ronald Regan, who dreamed up the Star Wars defense system-which was to act from space in our defense), decided to build a Star Wars ride. George must have been duped into giving his blessings.

Well one thing led to another, but I have no idea what either of those things are. So I guess I can’t talk about them now, because they have no bearing on this subject what so ever.

But back to the subject of the evil Galactic Empire located in a galaxy far, far away, but coming real soon to a planet near you.

When the real Emperor Palpatine found out that Disney had the rights to open a Star Wars ride in Disneyland, he must have infiltrated the Disney Corporation. The perfect cover, a family destination. Although, that must have been a real neat trick. Have you ver seen how this guy looks? Well there you go.

Anyway, Palpatine had to figure George Lucas must have intrusted the little R2 unit (now owned by Disney) with the technical blueprints for the designing, and building of a real Death Star.

He had to have reasoned, that by capturing R2D2 he could sell a lot of popcorn with the making of another Star Wars movie. So he lured all the old cast members in, with the promise of bit parts, and now he probably has them too!

No opposition to the building of his new massive Death Star. Don’t you see people?

We’ve got to stop them and all the Imperial Storm-Troopers. We have to… hey, what are you guys doing with that straight jacket, and what about that big needle, your not gonna—Oh, Obi Wan, help me, you’re my only hope!

Zzzzzzzzz….

My Wife: Genius!

The genius, my wife.

After many years of marriage I’m all too aware that my wife is a genius. But for some reason I feel my wife doesn’t see my particular genius at all.

Now I confess to not understanding how her genius works, but it does. She can fix practically anything. Okay… EVERYTHING, and never touch a single item she fixes. She’s absolutely AMAZING! Must have learned from the great Houdini.

Now at first, none of us in the family recognized her genius. Maybe that’s because we’re not very observant. Alright… its definitely because we’re not very observant. In fact, we’re virtually blind when it comes to being very observant.

The kids and I would be doing something when all of a sudden, we’d encounter a problem—which is practically every minute of every day.

Enter the genius—my wife—cape, mask and… sunglasses?

Here’s an example:

Once I was packing the back of our Ford Sport Explorer for a trip—Ford can thank me for this free advertisement later—by sending money… and lots of it.

I was having trouble getting everything to fit into the back of it.

“Honey… the box won’t fit!—I’m known in these parts as vehicularly challenged, especially when it comes to packing.

When all of a sudden…POOF!

In a flash… my wife comes out of nowhere (she’s very stealthy) and in the beat of an eyelash has diagnosed the problem, and quickly imparted the appropriate verbal calculations…

“The suitcase goes 2 degrees to the left dear, and the small briefcase needs to be turned 360 degrees to the right. Then I’d like you to place the baguette on top. Be careful not to tip the duffel bag over onto my pumps on your right, as I would like to wear those later. Girls… please help your father maneuver the luggage, won’t you.”

They all smiled and did as instructed while my lower jaw dropped—to the pavement. She then sipped her coffee and with a smile, magically slid herself into the passenger seat.

Our boys?

Well our boys did what our boys usually do—they followed my lead and dropped their jaws too, while our girls did what they always do…giggle at us males.

As the years have passed everyone in our family has come to appreciate my wife and her peculiar brand of genius.

Our daughters can’t find their tap-shoes

Enter my wife. She looks under the bed, ask “Then what are these?” and proceeds to miraculously produce three pairs of tap shoes and then vanishes back to where she came from—probably to produce another miracle somewhere else in the house.

Makes no difference what it is we’re whining about the resident genius works her magic.

TV remote not working, the car won’t start, piano sounds out of tune, or a laptop has downloaded a virus… no problem.

She has the answer… just stare at it.

And viola! All is right with the world again and not a finger lifted to repair, pull, maneuver, or dig out anything. Its just magically taken care of.

GENIUS!

Of course the rest of us look and feel absolutely stupid. Leaving us to ask; how does she do it? Who cares, right? Just as long as whatever it is that’s not right gets fixed, found, or working again.

But now, I’ve hatched this little plan to demonstrate to her… MY PARTICULAR BRAND OF GENIUS. Oh yes—in spite of what our kids might tell you—I’m a genius, too.

First of all, I recognize that up to now every one of us have been my wife’s Svengali. Okay, so we look a little strange, but hey, weird looking eyes are probably a by-product of being a Svengali.

That, or possibly a result of not knowing what to do when something is broken, or otherwise not working.

I think doctors have a technical term for this. They call it: Deer in the headlights syndrome.

But no matter, we all know that if we don’t whine about something… she won’t be able to work her magic.

So I’ve come up with this little plan, see.

Come this weekend, I’m gonna complain that I haven’t been able to pick the winning numbers for the lottery. And when she has to come over to fix it… faster than you can say “Bob’s your rich long lost uncle” POOF!

I’m going to be busy counting millions of dollars.

Now whose a genius?

Have You Become A Slippery Tongue Devil?

People call you a master linguist. Words just seem to slip off your tongue. Mind you, people don’t recognize some of them, but Merriam Webster has nothing on you.

Others have gone so far as to say (because new and strange words escape your mouth at will) that you must be working on your own lexicon, or possibly a new accent.

There was that time (for no apparent reason) the word “paapel” came out—instead of the word, people. Everyone thought you were born and raised in California. Apparently not. Perhaps you had a secret upbringing in the south that even you were unaware of.

Maybe you drank moonshine and wrestled pigs all day in your bare feet during your hillbilly youth. Possibly could explain why you don’t remember any of it—or would even want to.

On another occasion, the phrase  “I no can do it.” escaped your lips, while you were trying to avoid working overtime on a Friday. You sure know how to turn a phrase. Your boss thought he had hired a foreigner, saying, “I didn’t know you were from Scotland?”

But (now that you’re an adult), in your defense, your family has taken to telling folks, “Oh… he’s been talking in tongues ever since he was an infant.” Of course, back then, you had an excuse.

But that’s not all you can do. Everyone (especially your family) is amazed at your ability to abbreviate long words—verbally.

For instance; the big ooops is no stranger to you. Remember that time you were showing your boys how to use a hammer. You were telling them, “Boys, this is how its done.” How could you have known you were about to give a lecture on four letter words.

But, after you hit your thumb, you weren’t talking about vegetables (or food for that matter), when you exclaimed, “Shiitake Mushrooms!” Only you stopped short of adding—the ake and the word, mushrooms.

You, and your boys, had no idea you were about to give another language lesson. But crimson so becomes you…or at least your boys must have thought so.

How else do you explain the rolling around on the ground hysterics of your boys, as you put a nail through your foot (protruding from the board you dropped) while you ran around in agony gripping your pulsating thumb, and then tripping over the open toolbox you left out.

You were in all your glory that day, not to mention you revealed your hidden expertize in the use of four letter words. Who knew? You probably wished you were more proficient in Latin—not that you would have been able to call upon it in that particular moment.

Yep, you sure have a way with words—you silver tongue devil you.

 

 

The Deduction Discussion

The games afoot…again, and I think I’m an egghead.

See I lost my glasses the other day. The other day—hell I lose them all the time. But, as a result of losing my glasses at regular intervals, I thought I had managed to develop some rather keen deductive skills.

Well despite this miraculous talent of mine, my wife continued to mock me at every turn—skeptic that she is.

For example; during a recent case (my keys walked off), like the master sleuth, Sherlock Holmes, I began tearing the house apart looking for them, when she walked up and asked me what I was looking for?

I said “My keys…someone has moved them again.” She started helping me look, but all the while expressing how I’m always misplacing things and then blaming somebody else for it.

Finally, I was forced to point out, how Sherlock Holmes had nothing on me, and that I would find them with, or without her help. She responded “How so Sherlock?”

I said, “Well remember that time when from a single blade of grass, I deduced an entire lawn?”

For what seemed like an hour (but was actually only thirty minutes) she looked at me with a blank stare, and then said, “And your point is?”

I said “Don’t you get it? What I did was just like Sherlock Holmes, wasn’t it? I mean didn’t he say, that from a single drop of water one might deduce an entire Niagara or Atlantic?”

“But you were standing in the middle of a football field at the time!” she exclaimed, as if she was shocked by my massive intellect.

I figured what better place to find a single blade of grass than in the middle of a football field, right?

I think she missed the pure logic of the thing. And its not easy to be a logician in our house, or on a football field for that matter.

But back to case of my missing glasses.

I went on to explain to my wife how I’d made it my business to study all the great detectives of literature and what the literary detective, Daryl Zero, from “Zero Effect” once said about deduction; “When you go looking for something specific, your chances of finding it are very bad,”

She nodded “Uh-huh…”

So I continued with how he finished that thought, “Because of all the things in the world that you are looking for, you’re only looking for one of them. When you go looking for anything at all, your chances of finding it are very good. Because of all the things in the world that you are looking for, your sure to find some of them.”

She looked at me with a smile and said “So what you’re gonna do is look for everything, right?”

I replied, “Yeah…that’s right. That way I’m bound to find my glasses.”

About this time I was feeling pretty proud of myself, until she said…

“Well sweetie I don’t want to burst your bubble, but if you look carefully on the bridge of your nose—I think you’ll find your glasses.”

As well as the—egg on my face.

So folks, the moral of this story is, when you eliminate the impossible—never mind… you get the yoke.

Inanimate Objects Have An Odd Sense Of Humor

Are objects in your house laughing at your expense? Do they fall off the counter when your not looking? Slip onto the floor without provocation? Betray you when your in public—I could have sworn I zipped my fly up before I left the house?

Or do your clothes come out faded after you do the laundry?

Okay, I admit, I might be guilty of that one—seeing that I mixed the colors with the whites—but I have a good excuse… I’m a man.

But about those missing socks in the washer—that happens to both men and women. However, neither sex is to blame for it.

Wanna know why?

Inanimate objects, are not inanimate at all… and have an very odd sense of humor.

Remember that time when you had your hands full, and you had to dig through your purse for your keys. Remember you securely set your cup of  Starbucks on the roof of your car. Then when you went to open the door, the cup literally LEAPED from the roof of the car, and splattered all over your brand new skirt.

Remember that?

That was sooo… funny. Even total strangers walking by thought so. Especially when you began screaming in tongues. There you were; stomping around, launching objects that were left in your hands to parts unknown—the way NASA used to launch rockets.

Or how about the time you were both in a hurry for work. Good husband that you are, you decided to make a toasted bagel for your wife.

Do you remember how the butter knife you set down on the rim of the jam jar, chose that particular moment—your wife had just entered the kitchen—to demonstrate counter-diving, as opposed to the more popular cliff-diving.

You both fell over laughing so hard.

Particularly after bending over, simultaneously, and bumping heads in attempting to pick up the knife.

Remember?

Your kids thought it was pretty hilarious too—especially the youngest, who spewed a mouth full of milk across the counter—after both of you wound up sitting on your rear-ends.

But you’ve probably forgotten that now, because both of you were unconscious from the concussions.

Inanimate objects like playing practical jokes too—or is it impractical?

Like the time a screw with a Phillips head slipped from your screw-driver. Do you recall how the whole garage was completely empty, except for the small work-bench across the floor from you?

Funny, how the only item it could possibly roll under—was sitting half a football field away!

You have to feel that joke is an old stand-by for inanimate objects, because it happens so often. It doesn’t matter what item is dropped—be it flat, round, or square—the object will (always) find its way under the only desk, or sofa in an otherwise empty room.

Oh—and then there was side-splitting knee-slapper last Thanksgiving, when you went to take the turkey to the dinning-room table, and it flew off the platter onto…

SCI—ICS—CIS—SIC—ISC—CSI

In the beginning there was “CSI,” rather “CSI Las Vegas.” Closely followed by “CSI Miami,” “CSI New York,” and soon “CSI Cyber” all on the CBS network. Had CBS stolen two capital letters from the alphabet, leaving only twenty-four capital letters for the other networks to use?

The CBS Network might have recognized that, any combination of capitalized letters C, S, or I, might empower them to strike fear into the hearts of a network competitor.

ABC and NBC both were already missing capitol letters I and S, and quickly complained to the FCC (Federal Communication Commission) about the apparent theft.

It should be noted—stealing capital letters is a capital offense, punishable by being forced to recite the whole alphabet with “Elmo” from “Sesame Street!”

The FCC immediately launched an investigation.

However; blind panic had already ensued over at Fox where all three capital letters C, S, and I, were missing.

Since the CW was already missing a third letter to begin with, the FCC—convinced that the CW was not a real network—never bothered to investigate their alleged theft.

But could CBS (quoting Michael from “ET” in “Yoda’s” voice, make the claim) “Yes, I have absolute power.” Or were they innocent of all allegations?

The FCC determined CBS may have gained an unfair advantage with the extra two capital letters in their possession. But without proof of any theft, no action could be taken against the Tiffany Network.

CBS continued to monopolize television.

Then, suddenly, capital N’s went missing. With NBC in possession of a capital N to begin with, where did the other N’s go?

Meanwhile, the FCC stumbled across Vanna White lying on a floor over at “Wheel Of Fortune.” She had been knocked down during the theft of some N’s, but she was okay. Pat Sajak was questioned about the theft.

Unfortunately Pat Sajak could only offer the FCC a chance to spin the wheel, which they declined to do. After all, without an N, the best anyone could spell was “Wheel Of Fortu e”—hardly worth the effort.

Before long CBS was making use of CSI by simply putting an N in front of the capital letters and then reversing the I and the S . Suddenly a show called “NCIS” became the new number one show on television. Not long after “NCIS, Los Angeles,” then”NCIS New Orleans” followed. A pattern was clearly developing.

I began to ponder the money that could be made from pitching an idea to CBS involving the use of the letters CSI.

One day, while waiting for my directionally challenged son to get out of school, I saw a school custodian stopping to spray off graffiti from a wall. “That’s it!” I thought.

I rushed home to hash out the details. My wife asked where our son was, I responded, “How should I know?”

Apparently—in my haste to get home to write down the details—I had forgotten to pick up our son. Oh well … I’m sure he’ll turn up—someday.

Meanwhile, CBS liked my idea, and coming this fall “CSI Custodial Scene Investigators” joins the CBS Fall lineup.

It’s all about a team of custodians who solve everything from locked empty bathroom stalls to stepped in wet wax.

What a relief though, our wayward son was just spotted…

On the back of a milk carton.

How I Woke Up With A Face Tattoo

I woke up this morning with the face of a Chinese Shar-Pei! Now that I have a dog face, I wonder if I shouldn’t march down to my local recruiters office and join up? However my wife thinks my appearance has improved.

Have you ever woke up with a face looking like an accordion because you slept too hard on your bedding. If you have, then you know where I’m coming from. And if you haven’t … “then why the hell not?” Sorry, sorry …  its just that I’m not used to waking up looking like Emperor Palpatine from “Star Wars.”

My son even asked for my autograph! My wife wanted me to pose with him for a picture. I told her I charge for those.

Did you know that sebum on our epidermis prevents skin wrinkles when submerged in water, unless your in for an extended period of time. You know what that means—Aquaman’s skin must contain sebum enough to cover the pores of every single person on the planet, because he never has wrinkles.

Okay class, that’s enough science for today.

But imagine waking up looking like this and having to be somewhere at a specific time. Then picture yourself walking around Beverly Hills with your wife—where everyone is beautiful—and getting pulled over by animal control.

The officer say’s to my wife, “Maam, don’t you realize you need a license and a leash if you’re gonna walk your dog in public?” Everyone’s a straight-man.

Without batting an eyelash my wife pulled the mocha down from her lips (took a breath as if she was about to defend my honor) and say’s, “Thank you officer—then took another sip and responded—I will.”

My mouth hung open so wide, I thought my tongue fell out. After my youngest picked it up I was certain it did.

What can I say … people love their animals.

After today I have come to think of skin creases like tattoos, only without the ink. Who needs a tattoo parlor, all I ever really needed was a good nights sleep in a soft comfy bed, and some big plush pillows.

Quite by accident, I think I’ve discovered a whole new art form. No need for the needles anymore, and best of all, no pain.

I slept so hard on my face, the imprints from the sheets and pillow cases left me looking like a crumpled-up newspaper. The elephant man without the trunk, “I’m not an animal … I’m a prune!”

I thought about how people in this town get plastic surgery just to justify a plastic surgeons higher tax bracket, simply because they can afford it.

Most people worry about having crows feet and those lines that develop along there forehead. Not me, I’m worried that I’ll be confused with “The Mummy.”

A guy in the lobby even asked me, “What’s the name of your plastic surgeon so I know who NOT to call.”

Sleep wrinkles, what a concept.

So I Took A Day Off—Is That Nuts?

Fig. 1www.gezondheidplaatjes.nl

I took a day off yesterday, or at least I thought I did? “No”, I told myself “I’m not gonna get all paranoid about this.” Perhaps a little suspicious, but never paranoid.

I spent the day with my wife doing wonderful things for her, it was our day—or was it her day? Nevertheless I was not paranoid, a little obsessed perhaps, but not paranoid.

After all, it’s was our special day, one that requires we both be selfless. And boy was I feeling selfless!

But I was refusing to be paranoid, it wasn’t really work anyway… or was it? “Lets not be unreasonable.” I reasoned.

Hey… I had to get out of bed… and yes that requires some effort, but I’d do that anyway, except for when I wanna stay in bed—like yesterday.

I had to get up, though, because nature was calling. When you gotta go, you gotta go… right?

But wait a minute. What if she was already awake? What if she was just pretending to be asleep, and then just laid there until I had no choice but to finally run, NOT WALK, to the potty room? Oh that’s just silly, she’d never do that… or would she?

But I’m not paranoid, just a teensy-weensy distrustful, that’s all.

Anyway, everyone else was asleep and the dog was scratching at the door, and had to go out. Somebody had to walk her. If I’m up, I might as well walk her. Or was everyone hoping I’d see it that way, and just go ahead and do it myself? Snoring filled the house, or was it exaggerated snoring?

Now is that acting paranoid?

No… my family is not that devious, or are they? Why was everyone still in bed after I came back from walking the dog? Did they all take sleeping pills? I doubt it, and you do too, don’t deny it!

I mean, I made more than enough noise when I flushed the toilet, brushed my teeth, and washed my face. A bear in hibernation would have woken up!

Okay, so I’m a tiny bit fearful, but not paranoid.

And what about when I opened our bedroom door and had to search all over the house for the leash in order to walk the dog? And then there was me opening and closing the front door to take the dog in and out? I ask you, “Is that paranoid… sure you could say unreasonable… but never paranoid.”

And still everyone’s asleep? Later, they all were claiming I was a lunatic. But they couldn’t call ME PARANOID, no sir!

Then I thought, might as well make breakfast. So, I got the pots and pans out and started the bacon, eggs, potatoes, and got to brewing an espresso. Suddenly—the whole country shows up in our kitchen,

I tell you doc, the only people missing were the census takers! And then they called me nuts. So that’s why I called you this morning, and why I’m here now, on your couch.

“Zo zat is vy you callz me on za Zunzay morning? Cuz you sink za family is in za cahoots to makes you work on za day off? Uoont you sink zay sink you haz za paranoid”?

“Ah… yeah… so whadya think doc”?

“Vell you notz za paranoid, yooza cured of zat.”

“Yes?”

“Ah yes. Instead yooza clazy”!