Showing posts with label hunting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hunting. Show all posts

Friday, March 27, 2020

Happy Trails to You

Thought for the day: Please don't squeeze the... HEY! Where's the Charmin???


This is a common sight all over the world right now.
If poor ol' Mr. Whipple from the old Charmin television ads were still alive, wouldn't he be astounded? I mean, his very raison d'etre has disappeared. There's absolutely no reason to warn anyone not to squeeze the Charmin these days, because there's none left in the stores for anyone to squeeze... or buy.

Maybe we should blame the mysterious disappearing t.p. on those darned bears... (Or should I say bares?)

Believe me, I'm not making light of COVID-19. Like many of you, my hubby and I are both in the high risk category. But...( Or should I say butt?) as usual, I think the best way to cope with what's happening is with humor. (Surprise!)

So how about a silly little poem/song? (You can imagine me picking my guitar and singing, if you will...)

               ♪♫♪♫

The pandemic news is scary,
And no telling what's to come.
We're locked down in isolation,
And some brains have gotten numb.
That's the simplest explanation
For this obsession oh-so-dumb.
The world's kinda crumbling around them
So– they crave paper to wipe their bum??? 

CHORUS:
Buy it, buy it, and then buy some more.
Stack it in the closets; pile it on the floor.
Stash it in the basement; stuff it in the car.
Drink up all your bourbon, and then store it in your bar.
Throw out all your furniture; you can use it as your bed.
Build towers to the ceiling, and then fill a backyard shed.
Ignore your grumpy neighbors when they look at you and frown,
Because you're gonna have the cleanest butt in town.

Like a swarm of hungry locusts,
They ravage every store,
Grabbing every roll in sight
And then moving on for more.
This worldwide troop of buttheads,
Perhaps a million strong,
Care only about their precious rears
As they sing their hoarding song:

CHORUS:
Buy it, buy it, and then buy some more.
Stack it in the closets; pile it on the floor.
Stash it in the basement; stuff it in the car.
Drink up all your bourbon, and then store it in your bar.
Throw out all your furniture; you can use it as your bed.
Build towers to the ceiling, and then fill a backyard shed.
Ignore your grumpy neighbors when they look at you and frown,
Because you're gonna have the cleanest butt in town.

Fat rolls, thin rolls, packs from four to forty-eight;
Soft stuff, rough stuff, and stuff that ain't too great.
It really doesn't matter... it's all about the hunt.
"Let no roll go unpurchased!" (A stinky selfish stunt.)
Until this pandemic's over and the panic buys grow still, 
They'll amass more toilet paper to leave their children in a will.
This behavior is atrocious; I think it's very wrong,
But that happy horde of hoarders still crow their hoarding song:

CHORUS:
Buy it, buy it, and then buy some more.
Stack it in the closets; pile it on the floor.
Stash it in the basement; stuff it in the car.
Drink up all your bourbon, and then store it in your bar.
Throw out all your furniture; you can use it as your bed.
Build towers to the ceiling, and then fill a backyard shed.
Ignore your grumpy neighbors when they look at you and frown,
Because you're gonna have the cleanest butt in town...
♪♫ The cleeeeeanest buuutt in toooooown.... ♫♪

Okay, was that silly enough for you? No? Good, because I've got some cartoons for ya, too.










(Dime bags of t.p....)



our heroes... always eager to help
 Don't forget! It's more important than EVER to WASH YOUR HANDS!!! But...


              Until next time, hunker down and take care of yourselves. And keep smiling.

P.S.  On Wednesday, I took advantage of the early morning hour of shopping set aside just for us old farts at our local grocery store, and I thought I'd do you guys a solid by sharing a valuable public service announcement with you:



                                                                  You're welcome.

Monday, December 2, 2013

Hunting for Something to Write About

Thought for the day:  The word 'vegetarian' comes from the ancient Indian word for 'lousy hunter'.


Surprise! I don't usually post on Mondays, but what the heck. The Dream Destination blog hop will be kicking off on Thursday, so just for this week, we'll go with Monday and Thursday instead of Tuesday and Friday. (I'm such a rebel.)

But what to write, what to write...

Since deer hunting season is well under way, how about a little something about hunting? Anybody in your family into that? Smarticus used to go every year, but it's been a long time since he's had the urge to crawl out of a nice warm bed to traipse around in the woods or to sit up in a tree stand freezing his arse off at the butt crack of dawn. And that's just fine and dandy with me.

Not everyone is a natural hunter...
Granted, hunting isn't for everyone. Our younger son used to go, too, but for him, it was more about the camping, male bounding, and communing with nature. It all but required dynamite to blast him out of the bed at home, but he could hardly wait to hit the woods at dark-thirty in the morning... but I don't think he ever pointed his gun at a single animal.




Critters are pretty darned smart. As best as I can remember, Smarticus only went dove hunting once. He and a neighbor went on opening day of dove season. They spent allllll day long walking and looking, but didn't see hide nor feather of a single dove until they pulled into our driveway. Then they saw about fifty smirking doves safely sitting on the telephone lines between our houses ... thumbing their beaks at them.





Yes sirree, animals are plenty smart, but not quite as smart as some people think. Like the gal who thought somebody should move the deer crossing sign at the side of the road to a different location. She figured there was so much traffic on that part of the highway, the deer would be much safer if they were directed to cross at another spot.
You can hardly blame this ol' geezer for doing his hunting in the grocery store. (That's where I catch my fish these days, too.) After all, roughing it in the woods isn't nearly as much fun once the aches and pains take up residence, and I suspect the thrill of taking a whizz in the woods is inversely proportional to the number of times per cold night it's necessary to get out of a nice warm sleeping bag to do so.





But now this... THIS... just might work.







I enjoy target-shooting, but when it comes to shooting at an animal, I suspect I'd be about as useless as Bill Engvall's wife. She wanted to share more activities with her husband... but I don't think hunting was what she had in mind. Kinda reminds me of the joke: I just got a new rifle for my wife. It was the best trade I ever made...



So how about you? Been hunting for Christmas gifts at the mall? (I tell ya, some of those shoppers are real animals, aren't  they...?)

                                     Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.