About Me

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Naples, Florida
I like to laugh. If you don't, please hit whatever button escorts you from the premises immediately. I write a humor column for the Naples Daily News called, get this, "Life is Heald." It's about life as we all see it, just from a pair of rose-colored glasses that need cleaning. I tell stories, I rant about things that drive us all to the point of filling out a gun permit, I make fun of you and I make fun of me. If I can't use it in the column for whatever reason, it ends up here. Sometimes, you'll need to read the column to know what I'm writing about, but often the posts are just random, drive-by thoughts that entered my brain and exited my fingers. Just a flesh wound, so don't go dialing 911 about anything you read here. This is not one of those blogs that will tell you how many prunes it took to jump start my last bowel movement or what grade the kid got on his math test. The good stuff, I save for the Christmas newsletter.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Treat Others...

     So I'm watching this pro football game last Sunday between the San Diego Chargers and the Denver Broncos.  It's late in the game, the score is tied and San Diego is about to try to kick a field goal to win the game, they've just got to get a little bit closer. 
     Of all the proprietors of the "Y" chromosome, who amongst us has, at one time or another, not found himself in a situation where we had to go to the bathroom really, really bad and a facility for our faculties was not forthcoming?  Some of the world's truly great improvisational thinking has emerged from just such scenarios, not that what I'm about to tell you should necessarily be classified as such. 
     Just as San Diego is driving the football, the TV screen shows a shot of the San Diego kicker kneeling on the sidelines behind a box, with his back to the camera.  A sideline staff member is holding up a towel while he reflects back on his job interview to try and recall this part of the job description, surely questioning his pay grade at this particular moment. 
     I yell at the TV, "Get the camera off of him!" knowing what I know, by virtue of my "Y" chromosome, exactly what the guy is doing.  The cameraman, whom I'm willing to bet was indeed a man and not a woman, should have his man card shredded for selling out a compadre caught in a predicament of which we have all, as they say, been there, done that.  I would also recommend further sanctions including his being made to pee with the ladies and wait in the accompanying line and a two-year ban on all urinal privledges.  When it comes to these situations, all men, and Chasity Bono, have to stick together. 

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