Sunday, September 11, 2016

Ever since the government stopped letting hardware stores

 sell dynamite I have had to start doing really, really stupid things to keep up with my compulsion to play with dynamite.

When hardware stores stopped selling dynamite I took to buying it out of old barns and sheds. Some of it was old and crystalized and was pretty unstable but I survived.

With most of the available dynamite gone I had to find something volatile to play with and I have discovered old women. Old ladies are loose cannons and are pretty damned unpredictable, much like crystalized dynamite.

One will get upset at hearing someone say, “Aw, shucks!” and get indignant over what she perceives as profanity. The next one will rip loose with a string of profanity that would make an Old School drill instructor blush. You never know.

Over the past couple of years my favorite trick is to see a bikini clad lovely on a tabloid and look at it and then back at the old woman behind me with a look of confusion. I then point to the tabloid and ask her, “Is that really you?”

The first time I did this the old girl blushed, tittered and gave me a sheepish look and leaned over to me and said quietly, “The picture was taken some time ago.” We both laughed.

The second time the old woman looked, scowled and called me an asshole.

The third time the old woman took one look at the tabloid picture and asked me, “Why? Ya gonna come down to the dance hall and put a couple bucks in my G-string?”

I gotta admit I blushed a bit and laughed like hell.

To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

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