Ol Blue

A young man goes off to college.

Half way through the semester, having foolishly squandered all of his money on his girlfriend, he calls home. “Dad,” he says, “you won’t believe what modern education is developing! They actually have a program here at college that will teach our dog, Ole’ Blue, how to talk!”

“That’s amazing,” his Dad says. “How do I get Ole’ Blue in that program?”

“Just send him over here with $1,000,” the young man says, “and I’ll get him in the course.”

So, his Father sends the dog and $1,000. About two-thirds of the way through the semester, the money again runs out.

The boy calls home. “So how’s Ole’ Blue doing son?” his Father asks.

“Awesome, Dad, he’s talking up a storm,” he says, “but you just won’t believe this. They’ve had such good results they have started to teach the animals how to read!”

“Read!?” says his Father, “No kidding! How do we get Blue in that program?”

“Just send $2,500, I’ll get him in the class.” The money promptly arrives.

At the end of the year, his Father will find out the dog can neither talk, nor read. Even though he was always pretty much able to lie his way out of trouble, the fellow asked his girlfriend to help him think of a really good lie to tell his Dad. She very quickly came up with a plan for him. She has him shoot the dog.

When he arrives home at the end of the year, his Father is all excited. “Where’s Ole’ Blue? I just can’t wait to see him read something and talk!”

“Dad,” the boy says, “I have some grim news. Yesterday morning, just before we left to drive home, Ole’ Blue was in the living room, kicked back in the recliner, reading the Wall Street Journal, like he usually does”. “Then Ole’ Blue turned to me and asked, ‘So, is your Daddy still messing around with that little redhead who lives down the street?'”

The Father went white and exclaimed, “I hope you shot that lying dog before he talks to your Mother!”

“I sure did, Dad!”

“That’s my boy!”

How To Ruin a Decent Cookie – Just Wait!

I am sure that I am not the only person who ruined a “Bulletproof” baking mix this way.

I am also sure that I do it from a slightly different angle than most since I have a long list of “quick and dirty” baking treats that I make on a whim.

But there are only so many treats you can have around the house.

You see, while I am baking scratch mixes, blending chocolate with fruit or nuts to make candy bars, or even going so far as to make pretzels, I forgot.

I forgot that I have a shelf.   We all have that shelf.  If you bake at all, you have a collection of boxed mixes.

 

You picked that mix up from the supermarket and thought Hmmm, That’s Tasty!

You drop that mix into the cart and then wander off paying for it on your way out.

I even have a habit of quickly scanning the bins at the back of the market where there are mixes that are close to their expiration date.  You know the ones.  They’re being discontinued or they weren’t all that popular.   They’ve got the badge of shame on them.  Big red sticker saying “Discount!  Half Off” or less.

Yeah, those.  I’m that guy.

I really do prefer home made cookies to what you can get at the mall or the store.  My chocolate chip cookies are asked for when I am invited to parties because how can you compete with freshly churned butter, toasted nuts, and scratch ingredients?

But that also means that I have to watch what I have on hand.

That Shelf is in clear view.  In fact when you step over the threshold into my house it is in clear view of the front door on top of a bread rack.

It’s a Logical Place.  That also means it is doomed.

Those “special” mixes are waiting for a “special” occasion.

When I went looking for something the other day, I believe it was the crock pot but it easily could have been treats for the dog or some tea for Iced Tea, I spotted them.

Then I noticed that there was actually dust on top of the box.

DUST!  On top of a mix of Lemon Squares!

That. Is. Not. Good.

I checked the expiration date and found it expired four years ago.  April 2012.

Going through that stack, I found that there were five other mixes that were more than just a few weeks over their Best By date.

Not good.

That Lemon Square mix was a simple one, add egg and water.   It smelled funny.  Tasted worse.  I took one bite and out it went.

Next the Snickerdoodles.  They were January 2013.  Open the package and the mix smelled reasonably wholesome.  Of course there was that problem of how do you know how long to cook something that looks “done” when they go into the oven and come out soft?

 

I didn’t.  They ended up crunchy.  They’re supposed to be soft.  Still tasted “ok” and nobody got sick.

I followed that up with some Whoopie Pies.  When I opened up the mix my eyes watered.  Right into the bin!

So at this point the oldest mix is from June 2015, a full 11 months overdue.  It will get used before the end of this month.  I’m just going to have to stop “Baking for the Blog”!

Boxed Baking Mixes.  Ugh.  So … blah!  Where’s the challenge in that?

I’ll tell you, the challenge is to use the stuff up before it goes funny and I had a whole shelf of mixes just laughing at me!

This week, we’re going to enjoy a cake.  It’s a “Holiday” cake.  Peppermint and Chocolate, great for your holiday celebrations!  It was just within the “safe” zone.

I’m sure I will enjoy it.  But those mixes?  I have to be more careful since I do enjoy them, I really do.

I’m just a bit absent minded!

Jet Booze

Believe it or not, I never heard this one told quite this way!

Shane and Phil were a couple of drinking buddies who worked as aircraft engineers in Melbourne, Australia. .

One day the airport was fogged in and they were stuck in the hangar with nothing to do. .

Phil said, ‘Man, I wish we had something to drink!’ . .

Shane says, ‘Me too. Y’know, I’ve heard you can drink jet fuel and get a buzz. You wanna try it?’ . . So they pour themselves a couple of glasses of high octane booze, get completely smashed, and have a great evening. . .

The next morning Phil wakes up and is surprised at how good he feels. In fact he feels GREAT! NO hangover! NO bad side effects. Nothing! .

Then the phone rings. It’s Shane.

Shane says, ‘Hey, how are you this morning?’ . .

Phil says, ‘I feel great, how about you?’ Shane, ‘I feel great, too. You don’t have a hangover?’ . .

Phil says, ‘No that jet fuel is great stuff — no hangover, nothing. We ought to do this more often. In fact I’m going to be having only jet fuel from now on’ . .

Shane,’Yeah, well… there is just one thing.’ . . ‘What’s that?’ .

‘Have you farted yet?’ . . . . ‘No.’ . . . . ‘Well, DON’T, ’cause I’m in New Zealand’

The Girl and the Flagpole

Yes, it is THAT joke!

The girl and the flagpole:

Boy: I’ll pay you 10 bucks to climb up the flagpole.

Girl: Okay. (climbs the flagpole)

Girl: Mommy Mommy a boy paid me 10 bucks to climb the flagpole.

Mom: He just wanted to see your underwear!

…Next Day…

(Same boy): I’ll pay you 20 bucks to climb the flagpole!

Girl: OK thanks! (climbs the flagpole)

Girl: Mommy Mommy today the boy paid me 20 bucks for climbing the flagpole, but today I tricked him this time I wasn’t wearing underwear.

Mom:…

Command Shrapnel and the Collateral Damage Dog

Admit it.  Most dogs are badly trained.

Actually I should say that most if not almost all owners are badly trained and their dogs show it as a result.

Walking around the neighborhood, I see far too many stereotypes of small dogs.  Yapping, barking, straining at the leash.  The owner is apologizing, or worse.  Whispering comments of “No, Dear” does not instill any confidence.  The three pound bedroom slipper had decided a long time ago that this clown at the other end of the leash is not the leader, so I will be.

BarkBarkBarkBarkBark.

If you think it’s only yappers that do that, you’re mistaken.

See, I don’t normally worry about the middle of the pack.  The comfortable 40 to 50 pound dogs.  For some reason people see them as the sweet spot.  Not consciously, but in how they treat them.  It is rare that I see a midsized dog acting stupidly untrained as a bedroom slipper.  But it does happen, rarely.

However, you get to the big boys and now you have a different problem.  The Loaded Gun.  Somehow that 70 plus pound dog realizes that Mr Owner is not quite where he could be.  Mrs Owner is trying to walk a 100 pound beast and the pup knows that she can get pulled down.  So they’re sly and wait.  There will come a chance when they can have a little bit of freedom.  They may be runners, or barkers, or worse.

What happens in any of those cases?

I’m learning that Rack is learning.  We know that the easiest thing that you can do with a Herding Breed dog is to get them out and keep their minds busy.  Long walks.  Very long walks.  It helps that I am up before 5AM every day for the most part.  At 5AM the neighborhood is quiet.  Trucks are just starting to refuel the businesses for the next day.  The bus lines are beginning to get moving.  But not like another hour later when everyone is rushing for the office.

So, walk we do.  That first walk is usually around a mile and a half.  Helps keep the weight off both of us.  I’m rather happy not to be a stereotype of the fat dude sitting polishing a chair all day with his butt.

The good thing is it also keeps Rack happy.  He gets going and it requires a lot of management.  Lots of Come On, and Good Boy, and Lets Go, and This Way.

Where it gets amusing is when Command Shrapnel hits my dog and causes him to become Collateral Damage.

We’ll be walking along and I’m doing basically what boils down to Threat Assessment.

 

You hear barking first.

Then you spot the dog.

It’s already seen you, but you knew that.

Rack’s tail had been wagging, then it stopped.

Now the tail is hanging behind him.

Ears were perked, but have been flicking nervously.
I start to hear the commands.

The other person is saying things like “quiet” or “down”.

Then a “Sit!”

Rack Sits.

The other owner gets confused.

He barks another order.  “Come here!”.

 

While his dog is being insane about the presence of another person and heaven forfend, another dog, on its planet, he is firing off a volley of commands to his dog.

 

None of them work.  He simply does not have any kind of control over his relationship with the dog, the environment, and basically life.

What he has done is to give us a lot of information among the firing range approach of commanding a dog.

Not that it works, mind you.

But what he has done was to inform us that he has no idea what he is doing with his own dog.

He’s also amazed.  Rack Sat.  “How did you do that?”

He’s a McNab dog.  If you can’t train a McNab, you can’t train a dog.  I say “I didn’t, he listens.”

“But?”

 

“He’s collateral damage.  He was listening to you, decided this was for the best.”

I’m getting a really confused look at this point from the other owner.

“Rack?”  I get brown eyes in a field of black with a white stripe looking up at me.  A Smile on Canine lips.

“Rack, come on, lets go!”

Rack happily agrees and we plod on our way.

He’s learning.  While other dogs can be fun, the crazed leaping of a greeting is only to be reserved for friends.  He is also part Mountain Goat, especially where D. O. G. is involved.

D. O. G. is one of two Rottweilers in my area.  For a while, they were the dog-weapon of choice.  Now they moved onto Pit Bulls and have ruined that breed’s reputation.  D. O. G. is just a sweet pile of 165 pounds of love inside a big block of a head.

So much so that he will whine when he’s out front of his house so that I will come over to visit.  Now mind you, the entire time, I’m firing off my own Command Barrage.  Rack DOES listen, but when he’s excited there’s a limit to that.   D. O. G. is one of his favorite “people”.  He will actually whine at my front door when he spots him through the glass.  His owner makes Rack forget just about all training and become a stupid wiggly puppy goofball love sponge that doesn’t understand how to follow the rules until he blows off some energy.

I’ll hold him back to burn some of that off and let Kirby, D. O. G.’s Owner approach at his own speed.
Yes “Deeohgee”.  Or “Dio”.  Or giant love sponge.  You choose.

At this point the leaping goes nova and Rack is climbing higher to get closer to Kirby who he has been casting googoo eyes at through the glass all day.  Every time Kirby’s car or motorcycle starts, Rack does his ground hog impression and peeks at him through the window.

Yes. Rack has jumped on top of D. O. G.’s back.  And Dio is just too sweet to stop him.  Kirby pets Rack a bit, then helps him off or I help him off Dio’s back, I forget exactly which.

But yes, even well trained dogs have their stupid moments.  Luckily for me, my own Omega, Rack the McNab SuperDog (TM) is  not snapping at others.

He just ends up being Collateral Damage from Shrapnel in a Command Barrage.

It even happens when watching TV.  He’s “Come Here” to the TV.  “Sit” to Cesar.  Even “Roll Over” to other shows.

I didn’t know he knew that and it didn’t happen often.

But what do you expect?  After all, he knows how to say “Yes” by nodding his head when you ask him if he wants to go out, or even in, or for a ride.

 

That’s a McNab.  They sometimes even train themselves.

A Man and a Woman have an Accident

A Man and a Woman have an Accident, a bad one. Both of their cars are totally demolished, but amazingly neither of them is hurt.

After they crawl out of their cars, the woman says, ‘Wow, just look at our cars! There’s nothing left, but fortunately we are unhurt. This must be a sign from God that we were destined to meet and be friends for the rest of our days.’

The man replies, ‘I agree with you completely. This must be a sign from God!’

The woman continues, ‘And look at this, here’s another miracle. My car is completely demolished but this bottle of wine didn’t break. Surely God wants us to drink this wine and celebrate our good fortune.’

Then she hands the bottle to the man. The man nods his head in agreement, opens it and drinks half the bottle before handing it back to the woman.

The woman takes the bottle, immediately puts the cap back on, and hands it to the man.

The man asks, ‘Aren’t you having any?’

The woman replies, ‘No, I think I’ll just wait for the police…’