When I was a lad, I loved being in the woods. I made forts, swung from a tree on Marty’s Hill (Marty put the rope up and got to name the hill – Marty also broke his collarbone swinging from the rope, so that too) and had poison ivy 3-6 times a summer. Oh how times have changed.
This is my ankle.
I get bit by mosquitoes, on average, every third second I stop moving. At one point two summers ago, I had 23 mosquito bites on me. I also have OCD tendencies, so I scratch them open to keep them from itching me into the nuthouse, so there’s that also.
Yesterday, my son decided the party started at 4:50 am, so I got up early and finally got him back down. I was up, so I took the dog for a jog…which sounds like Dr. Suess. I need to read a real book soon. As we ran down the street, at one point I noticed a white tail glowing next to me, just three feet away. It was a skunk, with it’s balloon knot pointed right at us. By the grace of merciful God, it didn’t spray. OH BUT THERE’S MORE! Later last night at 10:15, right when the kids finally fell asleep, the cat busts in the room – smelling of skunk. I spent the next 55 minutes trying to catch the cat to get the smell off, while my wife tried to figure out how to get the smell off. Luckily it wasn’t a direct blast, but I opened the back door and it was still a cloud of stench, much like a music festival in July. This is now me when I see a skunk.
I have resolved the only time I will go outside is to get to a liquor store or if I see Seal Team 6 sweep the area with pesticide and Claymore mines.
This weekend I am going back to my fraternity house for a benefit event to raise money for my fraternity brother’s daughter to go to college. He passed very suddenly right after college and it is really an event I look forward to every single year, despite the very crushing reason we gather together. I have opined on Quincy and his legacy before, but this is a comedy blog, so I’ll keep it funny. You can donate here if you would like to help an amazing young lady pay for her education, btw. https://www.paypal.com/donate/?token=2woD3_9s5eUKoFkqf3SNpEaMIHkB59_AVlMMdLwbKA2qs1OE1chkff2M-fg_A9k8eB4KUG&country.x=US&locale.x=US
When I first moved into the frat house the summer before my sophomore year, it was like a dream. I had a pool table, sand volleyball court, a grill built into the deck, huge stereo, plus 33 other friends (coming soon when school started) and really, my first place of my own. Me and my high school buddies Stotts and Honk were drinking some beers when two soccer players made it in early for soccer two a days, my fraternity brothers Boyer and Nate. We started playing drinking games with tequila when one of the guys (name redacted) said, “I have the key to that Bobcat outside. We should take it for a ride!” All five of us drunkenly walked out to the parking lot, where they were tearing everything up for a new trail and parking area leading to campus. We fired the little earth mover up, my pal jumped on the roof and we yelled our cheers and drank our beers…then about 12 seconds after starting it, the one town cop car pulled up over the hill by the tennis courts, not 30 yards away. We scattered like roaches.
Two of my friends ran into campus to throw them off our scent…or maybe because they were drunk. Unbeknownst to both, the college had put a brand new rail in. The athlete of the two hit the rail at full speed and ended up missing a week of practice with deep thigh bruises. The smoker of the two also hit it right after having seen the athlete hit it and almost broke his leg. On the other side, my other buddy saw a clearing and ran to the woods. He happened to pick the clearing that was a clearing only because they had shoved all the broken concrete with steel rebar sticking out down that part of the hill. He bounced down the hill and by God’s grace, happened to roll under a huge piece of concrete that shielded him from the cops while he bled.
What happened to you, Chris? I saw another gap in the woods. I ran full speed and realized it was a six foot drop with an enormous ceramic pipe for drain off into the ravine. I fell down two of those six foot drops and in the process of falling, lost my sandals and I was already shirtless. I slammed into the pipe full force from the fall. The last drop was filled with thorns and briars that had grown up in the hole and I had to push through with all my strength, the barbs ripping open my arms and chest. I then ran deep into the woods in the dark with no shoes on, hearing the cop yelling behind me. After 15 minutes, I crawled back to the house and found I was ten feet from the cop, still scanning the woods with his light. Back into the woods! YAY! I finally, after an hour, belly crawled and ended up being the first one back. Over the next two hours, all five made it back – no one arrested. One of my buddies did get stopped by the cop who had backup by then. He was walking back from the other side of campus, limping from hitting the railing, intoxicated and looking rough. The cop stopped him – “Were you one of the guys trying to ride that Bobcat.” “What Bobcat?” he said. The cop let him go. Keep in mind school hadn’t started yet and there were probably 12 students on the entire campus. Crack police work that night.
Over the next several days, four of us had limps, cuts and I happened to lie down in poison Oak or Sumac as my entire torso was a red rash. It was so bad, I scratched it open with a dry towel and poured bleach into the cuts. It finally stopped itching, but I had chemical burns for six months on my stomach. I did however finally find the beer coozy I lost that said “BEER: Not just for Breakfast anymore” that I bought in Myrtle Beach my senior trip after high school, so it wasn’t all dark clouds, everyone!
Well, I learned my lesson that night. OK, not really, other than don’t take your shirt off before you commit grand theft bulldozer. “Hey Chris, you never said what happened to the fifth guy, the one who thought of the whole idea?” Oh him. The only one not bloodied and battered? The guy who thought to steal the Bobcat in the first place. He found a nature trail and ran to a clearing lickety split. He didn’t have a scratch on him.
I honestly feel bad for door to door salesmen, but I generally hate them. Friday I got home, had to do a couple things around the house before my show and really didn’t need any interruptions. Along comes bug treatment guy. He was pretty young and in all honesty, it was raining and he was on a segway, so I really didn’t know whether to sympathize or hate him.
He began a spiel with some really corny lines about my house and all the multitudes of bugs, like I lived in the Temple of Doom from Indiana Jones. He was on fire with the hand gestures and anecdotes, but all I could see was the huge white pimple on his neck. I really didn’t hear too much, plus my dog was trying to get out from behind me. I finally interjected, “Sounds great and all, but I have two kids and this mutt here, so I need something safe.” That will stump him so I can move along without having to straight slam the door in his grill. “Oh it’s really safe. The granules are so small, they only stick to bug hairs, not human hairs. I’ve even eaten the powder myself and drank the spray.” “Oh you did, did you? Sounds tasty.”
At that point, he stared into my unimpressed face. He knew he had went a bit too far. It’s one thing to tell me you lab tested chems on kids or have some eco-rating approved by the Fart Institute or whatever, but don’t expect me to believe you were sprinkling pesticide on your popcorn or hamburgers because you’re dedicated to your craft of going door to door. I was going to ask him what it tasted like, but I saw he was winding up, knowing it was over. In fairness, if it keeps mosquitoes off me, I may start doing shots of DDT with this guy, but alas, I never got to ask as he rode off into the sunset, full of bug spray goodness.
Fighting a shark in three feet of water.
Fighting a bear with one arm (the bear has one arm).
Fighting a smaller bear, but I have one arm in this scenario.
Drinking a bottle of expired tartar sauce in five minutes.
Staring into the sun.
Dieting and working out.
Changing someone’s mind about politics with a meme.
Being a man in my upper 30’s and not taking a leak for 2 hours.
Not drinking after a normal day at work.
Flying a spaceship you’ve never seen before like Will Smith on Independence Day.
Doing an hour of jokes in a bar while the local favorite sports team is in the playoffs.
Keeping dog hair off black pants.
Eating berries from the grocery before they go bad.
Sleeping in with children in the house.
Finding a way to actually use the math they told you in high school you would use every day.
Finding the right batteries when something quits working.
Fighting a shark and bear with one arm in two feet of water.
12 Thai boys and their coach were rescued from a flooded cave where they were miraculously extricated after licking water off rocks to survive. I learned I will NEVER GO INTO A CAVE EVER AGAIN.
Stormy Daniels was arrested, then released under some strip club touching rule. I learned apparently in Ohio there is an exemption for stripper touching/touching the stripper for immediate family. I learned I need to find out how a bill where family can touch a stripper seriously is on the books as codified law. I’m so confused and wish I never knew this information.
I learned not to use your cell phone light as a flashlight where it call fall over and crack you between the eyes when you get an email.
I also learned when you get a rental car and they ask you if a van is OK, you should ask back, “Does it smell like old, unwashed scrotum?” I didn’t and I’ve never held my breath and drove so far in my life.
Finally, I learned that if you buy a small swimming pool for a toddler, she will want to swim every single day, no matter if at 6 am or 9 pm at night. This was a worse purchase than slime.
I had a new joke idea hit me last week while listening to the radio. A commercial came on where you heard a door open, conversational sounds got louder, then dulled as the door shut. Woman: “What are you doing outside, is everything OK?” Man: “It’s just…this heartburn. It’s killing me.” She then chimed in with the perfect solution, a heartburn medicine in her pocket.
The commercial was so serious that I immediately started laughing. What if the guy had a serious problem, like his wife cheated on him and he just found out? He’s ready to jump off a bridge and all the lady had up her sleeve was some Tums knockoff. It would have went like this: Woman: “What are you doing outside, is everything OK?” Man: “No, I just found out Julia is sleeping with other men. I can’t go on living like this.” Woman: “Ooooo. Um…I was really hoping you had heartburn. That’s all I’ve got for you. Well, hope it works out!” Then you hear her slam the door and go back inside.
I had a show that night, so I pulled out a hot pink post it brighter than the sun. I then wrote, “Man has serious mental health crisis and wants to die. Woman has stupid Tums. Hilarious.” I stuck it on the dash so I wouldn’t forget. Yesterday, I picked up a nail in the tire and had to drop my car off at the shop and forgot about the bright pink post it stuck right on my dashboard. So some mechanic on the west side jumped in and saw a blazingly bright note I wrote about how funny a guy’s suicidal thoughts are and for some reason a lady has stomach pills. Hopefully, he didn’t grab the notebook shoved in the seat and read the joke ideas about gas station bathrooms I had on a road trip a few years back or there may be a police report started.