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I don’t know about the rest of you, but I need a laugh. Real life is moving so fast and painfully, at least in Washington, that it’s a relief to be able to smile and chuckle rather than grind my teeth at all the news.
So much has happened in the last few weeks that my mind keeps whirling with dark thoughts and scattered insights, stirred with anger and frustration at some of the pure nonsense I hear and read, especially the bizarre conspiracy theories and cockamamie legal theories coming out of people who ought to know better.
But thank goodness for friends who love to pass along the funnier side of life courtesy of the internet, what I used to call “contributions from cyberspace.” I’ve been saving these items for a laughter break.
So while I get my own thoughts in order in time for next week, enjoy the following paragraphs and comedic insights, some familiar and perhaps some new, topped off by a good golf story, and, as always, have a nice day:
• I changed my car horn to gunshot sounds. People get out of the way much faster now.
• Gone are the days when girls used to cook like their mothers. Now they drink like their fathers.
• I didn’t make it to the gym today. That makes five years in a row.
• I decided to stop calling the bathroom the “John” and renamed it the “Jim.” I feel so much better saying I went to the Jim this morning.
• Old age is coming at a really bad time.
• When I was a child I thought “Nap Time” was a punishment. Now it feels like a small vacation.
• The biggest lie I tell myself is ”I don’t need to write that down, I’ll remember it.”
• If God wanted me to touch my toes, He would’ve put them on my knees.
• Last year I joined a support group for procrastinators. We haven’t met yet.
• Why do I have to press one for English when you’re just going to transfer me to someone I can’t understand anyway?
• Of course I talk to myself. Sometimes I need expert advice.
• Actually, I’m not complaining because I am a Senager (Senior teenager). I have everything that I wanted as a teenager, only 60 years later. I don’t have to go to school or work. I get an allowance every month. I have my own pad. I don’t have a curfew. I have a driver’s license and my own car, and I don’t have acne. Life is great.
A nun walks into the Mother Superior’s office and plonks down into a chair. She lets out a sigh, heavy with frustration.
“What troubles you, Sister?” asked Mother Superior. “I thought this was the day you spent with your family.”
“It was,” sighed the Sister. “And I went to play golf with my brother. We try to play golf as often as we can. You know I was quite a talented golfer before I devoted my life to Christ.”
“I seem to recall that,” Mother Superior agreed, “so I take it your day of recreation was not relaxing?”
“Far from it,” snorted the Sister. “In fact, I used profane language today.”
“Goodness, Sister!” gasped Mother Superior, “you must tell me all about it!”
“Well, we were on the fifth tee — and this hole is a monster, Mother — 540 yard par 5, with a nasty dogleg right and a hidden green — and I hit the drive of my life. The sweetest swing I’ve ever made. And it’s flying straight and true, right along the line I wanted … and it hits a bird in mid-flight!”
“Oh my” commiserated Mother Superior. “How unfortunate. But surely that didn’t make you blaspheme, Sister.”
“No, that wasn’t it,” admitted the Sister. “While I was still trying to fathom what had happened, this squirrel runs out of the woods, grabs my ball and runs off down the fairway.”
“Oh, that would have made me blaspheme,” sympathized Mother Superior.
“But I didn’t, Mother!” sobbed the Sister “and I was so proud of myself! And while I was pondering whether this was a sign from God, this hawk swoops out of the sky and grabs the squirrel and flies off, with my ball still clutched in his paws.”
“So that’s when you cursed,” said Mother Superior with a knowing smile.
“Nope, that wasn’t it either,” cried the Sister, anguished, “because as the hawk started to fly out of sight, the squirrel started struggling, and the hawk dropped him right there on the green.... and the ball popped out of his paws and rolled to about 18 inches from the cup.”
Mother Superior sat back in her chair, folded her arms across her chest, and fixed the Sister with a baleful stare.
“You missed the damn putt, didn’t you?”
Ken Ripley, a resident of Spring Hope, is The Enterprise’s editor and publisher emeritus.