When Life Gives you Lemons

squirt life in the eye with them cause then you both are blind. No wait. That's not how it goes.

I seem to get my adages messed up from time to time.

When life gives you lemons, make limoncello.


If you've ever seen Molto Mario, he describes limoncello as a "digestivo" or a nice little after dinner drink to help digest a large meal. This stuff is like the rocket fuel of lemonade.

And that's the adage, make lemonade when life gives you lemons. And that got me to thinking.

I'm really good at one thing: getting yelled at by women. Just yesterday, the Crotchety Old Lady yelled at me, one of my online friends (hey, I'm a Modern Old Man, women find new and creative ways to yell at me) and the Spawn all yelled at me.

Now, a normal man would get upset by this. But youse already know by now that I'm not normal. For some reason, I have a Ghandi like demeanor when I get yelled at by women.

Basically, I just make lame excuses on the fly, until they get tired of yelling, and give up. I do have a breaking point, but it is far beyond that of average men.

I decided to use this uncanny ability to make some cash.

Crotchety's Excuse a Rama Yellafone at your service.

You want to yell at your significant other, and have days of fighting? Of course not. Just call me or one of my highly trained staff and vent away, while we make lame excuses to return you to a state of bliss.

You'll hear such great excuses including

"Yes, dear, I understand."

"You are absolutely right."

"I'll get on that right away."

"No, I wasn't looking at her. I was just thinking how great that outfit would look on you."

And, with all calling plans, at no extra charge, the Man's Prayer from the Red Green Show

"I'm a man, but I can change...if I have to. I guess..."

I'm thinking of charging $1.99 a minute for the basic plan, up to $4.99 for the deluxe. With the deluxe plan, we promise to make it up to you at some later point in time.

Don't forget to help out Deb with her feeds fundraiser. It's easier to just do it than to come up with an excuse.




They bring the funny every day and make no excuses at
http://www.humorbloggers.com/

Stinky Feet

I worked for a number of years with developmentally disabled adults. Everyone knows this can be an intersting job. At times it can be quite taxing, yet it is highly rewarding on a personal basis. I had the chance to meet and interact with plenty of interesting characters, people who were kind of "off the wall" and not exactly like the average person you would run into on the street. And then, I got to work with some of the clients.

This is about one of the clients, Stinky Feet. That was not his Christian name.

I'm using past tense, but I'm sure Stinky Feet is still around and doing well, so not to worry about some evil surprise ending.

Stinky Feet's nickname came about because he absolutely went crazy over the phrase "Stinky Feet." It was his universal word. It was exactly like some folks use the eff bomb.

If he was angry at someone, they had stinky feet. If he was really happy, he would run around the room, and singing stinky feet while giggling hysterically. Occasionally he would get in a "debate" about who in the program had stinky feet. He liked to laugh a lot, and his laughter was infectious.

But the only difficult time I ever would have with him was when we went out in the van. He was fine under most circumstances, but heaven forbid if he ever saw a woman. He would invariably hang out of the car, and yell out something innappropriate. Nothing too terrible, but it was always something like "Hey Baby, or Whoa Momma"



but the worst was when he would say, "Hey Crotchety, check her out," as if I were in some way complicit in this. At this point, I should point out when he said things, it was loud, loud enough that everyone in the immediate area and then some heard him. It wasn't too bad if the lady who was the object of his misplaced affections was driving because that meant she would just flip me off and drive on.

But if they were walking, and we were stuck in traffic--oy vey. You can only imagine the embarassment.

The absolute worst of the worst was that he did not possess the ability to understand that as bad (but, in retrospect, funny) as it was to yell at women, it was beyond inappropriate to yell stuff like that at girls. I was always shocked when I was able to make it back to the center without getting arrested, or at the very least attacked by roaming bands of angry women with torches and pitchforks.

Do I really yell at cars?

Yes, yes, I do.

My favorite car yelling story:

A few years ago, I lived in a development near a new car dealer. My street was pretty curvy, had a "S" curve right in the middle, in fact. Well, the moron salesmen used to cut through my street, and drive really fast to get the full effect of the road curves.


I can only guess it made them feel like they were running a European race course. This would be fine except for the kids, pets, and old people they terrorized by this behavior.

I had a lot of free time, so I often spent it outside yelling at the morons to slow down. Believe me, on a Saturday, it was as busy as most main streets with these idiots racing down through my development. My neighbors suggested I should do something besides yell at the cars.

The next Saturday, a car went zipping by, and I yelled. He flipped me the bird.

This did not sit well with me at all.

I then got in my truck, and drove across the highway to pay a visit to the showroom.

As I walked in I spotted the a-hole. He was sitting with his equally stupid co-workers and laughing. I asked for a manager. They continued laughing. When the manager came over, I explained the situation. I told him I wasn't sure which jerk it was, but if I saw another one of his new Hondas on my street driving fast, I would mark the car for him with a large rock so we would be able to know which salesjerk it was. He apologized, and said it wasn't going to happen again.

A few weeks later, a neighbor came by and said to me, "Not sure what you did, but I haven't seen a Honda around here for a few weeks."