Collective Nouns, Revisited.......

A while back I posted a list of collective nouns for groups of animals.  Today, I thought it might be fun to make up some collective nouns of my own for groups of people.  I had some fun with this.  Can you think of some appropriate collective nouns for  specific groups of people?

---A Profit of businessmen
---A Glass Ceiling of businesswomen
---A Polling of politicians
---A Keystone of cops
---A Blaze of firemen
---A Location of real estate agents
---A Trickery of lawyers
---A Flu of Physicians
---A Giggle of comedians
---A Lasso of cowboys
---A Stench of garbage collectors
---A Creel of fishermen
---A Gospel of preachers
---A Nosy of neighbors
---A Return of tax collectors
---A Flush of plumbers
---A Rumble of motorcyclists

Nine Words Women Use.......

9 WORDS WOMEN USE


(1) Fine: This is the word women use to end an argument when they are right and you need to shut up.


(2) Five Minutes: If she is getting dressed, this means a half an hour. Five minutes is only five minutes if you have just been given five more minutes to watch the game before helping around the house.

(3) Nothing: This is the calm before the storm. This means something, and you should be on your toes. Arguments that begin with "nothing" usually end in "fine".


(4) Go Ahead: This is a dare, not permission. Don't Do It!


(5) Loud Sigh: This is actually a word, but is a non-verbal statement often misunderstood by men. A loud sigh means she thinks you are an idiot and wonders why she is wasting her time standing here and arguing with you about nothing. (Refer back to # 3 for the meaning of "nothing".)


(6) That's Okay: This is one of the most dangerous statements a women can make to a man. That's okay means she wants to think long and hard before deciding how and when you will pay for your mistake.


(7) Thanks: A woman is thanking you, do not question, or faint. Just say "you're welcome".  (I want to add in a clause here - This is true, unless she says "Thanks a lot" - that is PURE sarcasm and she is not thanking you at all. DO NOT say "you're welcome" ... that will bring on a "whatever").


(8) Whatever: Is a woman's way of saying you are irrelevant.


(9) Don't worry about it, I got it: Another dangerous statement, meaning this is something that a woman has told a man to do several times, but is now doing it herself. This will later result in a man asking "What's wrong?" For the woman's response refer to # 3.

My Favorite Obituary

A few weeks back, I posted a blog on obituaries.  I find them to be fascinating.  Last night, I asked myself what obituary I have read over the years is my favorite. I didn't have to think very long.  The following obit, which was published by an unknown author, has made me laugh out loud every time I have read it.  I hope you enjoy it.

                                  Pillsbury Doughboy

Please join me in remembering a great icon.  Veteran Pillsbury spokesperson, The Pillsbury Doughboy, died yesterday of a severe yeast infection and complications from repeated pokes to the belly.  He was 71.

Doughboy was buried in a slightly greased coffin.  Dozens of celebrities turned out, including Mrs. Butterworth, the California Raisins, Hungry Jack, Betty Crocker, the Hostess Twinkies, Captain Crunch and many others.

The graveside was piled high with flours as long-time friend, Aunt Jemima, delivered the eulogy, describing Doughboy as a man who "never knew how much he was kneaded".

Doughboy rose quickly in show business, but his later life was filled with many turnovers.  He was not considered a very smart cookie, wasting much of his dough on half-baked schemes.  Despite being a little flaky at times, even as a crusty old man, he was still considered a roll model for millions.

Toward the end it was thought he'd rise once agan, but he was no tart.

Doughboy is survived by his second wife, Play Dough.  They have two children and one in the oven.  The funeral was held at 3:50 for about 20 minutes.

Notes:

---The Pillsbury Doughboy is an advertising icon, created by Rudy Perz of the Leo Burnett ad agency in 1965

---The Doughboy was originally named "Poppin' Fresh"

---The Doughboy has appeared in over 600 commercials, and is the mascot of the Pillsbury Company

---A few of the prominent funeral service attendees are pictured below:

Aunt Jemima

Mrs Butterworth

The California Raisins

Captain Crunch

Betty Crocker

The German Shepherd, The Panther and The Squirrel

One day an old German Shepherd was chasing rabbits and soon discovered he was lost.  Wandering about, he noticed a panther heading rapidly in his direction with the intention of having lunch.

A Pretty Smart Dog!

The old German Shepherd thought, "Uh oh!...I'm in big trouble now!"  Noticing some bones on the ground close by, he immediately settled down to chew on the bones with his back to the approaching panther.  Just as the big cat was about to leap, the old German Shepherd exclaimed loudly, "Boy, that was one delicious panther!---I wonder if there are any more around here?"

Hearing this, the young panther halted his attack in mid-strike, a look of terror came over him, and he slinked away into the trees.

"Whew!", said the panther, That was close!  That old German Shepherd nearly had me!"

Meanwhile, a squirrel who had been watching the whole scene from a nearby tree, figured he could put this knowledge to good use and trade it for protection from the panther.  So after the panther he went.

The squirrel caught up with the panther and told the panther what he had seen.  The young panther was furious at having been made a fool of, and said, "Squirrel, hop on my back and see what's going to happen to that conniving canine!"

Now, the old German Shepherd saw the panther approaching with the squirrel on its back and thought, "What am I going to do now?"

But instead of running, the dog sat down with his back to his attackers and pretended he had not seen them.  Just when the panther and squirrel got close enough to hear, the old German Shepherd said, "Where's that squirrel?  I sent him off an hour ago to bring me another panther!"

What I Learned From My Wife At 4:30 AM

Today I interrupt my Christmas themed blog to tell you what I learned about my lovely wife at 4:30 this morning.  I don't think I ever laughed so hard in my life.

We were still in the bed, just awakening, when Cindy asked me what football games I am interested in this bowl season.  The conversation went something like this:

Me:  I'm looking forward to several different games.  Why aren't you more interested in football?

Cindy:  Oh, I enjoy being with you while you watch the games, but I don't really get into the action that much

Me:  Do you understand the game?

Cindy:  I know the basics.

Me:  What are the basics?

Cindy:  (long pause)  Ummmmmm....well, one team is trying to get to the end of the field and the other team is trying to stop them from getting there.

Me:  (pause)  Well, yeah...that's pretty basic, all right.

Cindy:  And the team with the ball is trying to kick a field goal.

Me:  Oh, here we go......How many points does a team get for kicking a field goal?

Cindy:  (long pause)  Two.

Me:  (Now I'm thinking this is really an interesting conversation)  How many points does a team get for scoring a touchdown?

Cindy:  (pause)  Ummmmmm......One?

Me:  How many points does a team get for kicking an extra point?

Cindy:  I thought an extra point was a field goal---two?

Me:  How long is the football field?

Cindy:  (long pause).........500 feet?

Me:  Well, honey, so far you're perfect---you have missed every question.

Cindy:  Well, at least I DO know about baseball.

Me:  OK, what is a slider?

Cindy:  That's easy---that's when a runner tries to get to a base and slides in the dirt.

Me:  Hmmmm.  (Pause)......What is a triple play?

Cindy:  (long pause).......Is that when the batter hits the ball and it bounces three times?

At this point I tried to get out of bed to write this priceless conversation down so that it could be preserved for the ages, but I was laughing so hard it took me three minutes just to get on my feet.

And after having thought about this wonderful discussion, I am convinced that I am married to a true national treasure.  Thank you, Cindy, for getting my day started with a big laugh!  I love you!

The Priceless Pothead

Early Ming Dynasty?  $200,000 at Auction?

When my daughter, Diane, was about 12 years old, she came home from school one day proudly carrying a ceramic creation she had made in a pottery class.  The creation was a human head that was hollowed out for use as a vase or similar function.

Without a doubt, it is the strangest looking thing imaginable.  My initial thought was that she either has an incredible imagination or was under the influence of a hallucinogen.

It turns out that she has an incredible imagination....that, plus the fact that an artist she is not.  Ha.

But, as happens, the "Pothead", as it has been dubbed, has assumed an important and honored place in our home.  It is now a part of our family lore, to be discussed and laughed about whenever we gather together.

Diane and Me, Taken Earlier This Year

To be sure, all of us thought at the time that it was a cute piece of junk, to be thrown away at first chance.  But somehow it ended up in my office, then it was in our den, then it moved with Cindy and me to Texas, where it has been sitting for years on our hearth.

It is a wonderful conversation piece.  When friends come over, they invariably ask about it.  I always tell them it is "early Ming Dynasty".  No one has believed me yet, but maybe some day......

My fantasy is to take it to be appraised on Antique Road Show and have the conversation go something like this:

EXPERT:  Do you have any idea what this piece might be worth?
ME:  No----maybe $1.50?
EXPERT:  Well, I'm glad you're sitting down, Clint, because we think this magnificent piece would fetch at least $200,000 at auction.

Let's Just Call This A Learning Experience...

Our Adventure Began Here

Cindy came home two weeks ago from a shopping excursion and told me about a Mexican supermarket she had discovered.  She said the name of it is "Fiesta", and they have a huge selection of south-of-the-border favorite foodstuffs.

The Food Court!

But the thing she really liked was the looks of the little dining area near the front of the store.  She said it appeared that they had all kinds of prepared Mexican food, which we love; and it also looked like they were inexpensive.  "We should go there!" she raved.

Prepping the Refried Beans

Well, today we did.  It was an experience.  The little cafe had most kinds of Mexican fare, preheated in a glass case.  I selected the tacos, rice and refried beans.  Cindy ordered the enchiladas with a salad, rice and beans.  We had to wait for about 15 minutes for the one server to get our order together.  The woman moved EXTREMELY S-L-O-W-L-Y.  I couldn't believe it.

Parmesan Cheese on Enchiladas?

Meanwhile, other customers were in line to place their orders and were becoming impatient.  When the server finally gave us our plates, she had two plates of enchiladas and no tacos.  I decided to just eat the enchiladas without complaint. 

Why Did God Make the Fly?---And Why Did He Make So Darn Many?

More fun began when we sat down on the picnic style tables they have in the dining area.  There was some dried food on the tabletops and some of Texas' larger flies were aggressively feeding.  We took our seats in one spot where there was little dried food and started to eat as our arms waved continuously at the buzzing insects.  Let me tell you the food was as bland and dry as it could be.  I have never before had Mexican food that was flavorless.  Also, inexplicably, the server had put parmesan cheese on the enchiladas.  I never heard of that, either.  Maybe it was an attempt to infuse some flavor into the dish?  If so, it didn't work.

It Is Important To Keep One's Sense of Humor!

I was so hungry I had to eat at least part of it.  Cindy found something mysterious in one of her enchiladas.  It was round and shiny---looked like the back of a cockroach to me, but Cindy said she thought it was a "gland" of some kind.  From that point on, Cindy ate no more enchilada, but she was also very hungry and decided to just eat the tortilla that surrounded the mystery meat. 

We won't be going back to the Fiesta market---at least, not to eat.  I told Cindy that although this was not a good experience, we will probably remember it longer than if we had had a good meal somewhere else.  I'm already laughing about it.

NOTE:  Cindy wrote about her version of today's lunch events on her blog at Cindy Ellison 

Ahhhhhh....the Joys Of Grilling.............

My Simple, Highly Efficient Grill

One of the true joys of manhood is the ritual of cooking outside on the ole grill, or "barbie" as they say Down Under.  I am sure this joy is a genetic thing peculiar to men, dating back eons to prehistoric times when the men went out and hunted, killed, dressed and cooked dinner for the family unit.

Today, of course, we civilized folk have refined this process to a trip to the local meat market, where we (the mighty hunters) select the precise cuts of meat to grill over hot coals on the back patio.  As the meat gets happy over the smoky embers, we masters of the culinary art stand guard over the barbeque grill, lovingly and expertly bringing our dinner to a precise and succulent end.

The Mighty Hunter Builds the Coals

Well, OK...not exactly.  I did forget to mention that alcohol is usually a part of this tradition.  As we sip on our spiritous liquors---be it beer, wine or booze---our minds occasionally wander---sometimes to the point that we forget we are grilling.  This has on occasion produced disastrous results....totally incinerated meats which are not fit for consumption.  In cases like these one is tempted to offer it to the family dog, but the dog has proven to be much too discriminating to be taken in by this ruse.

The Coals are Now Ready

Then, there is the REAL problem that arises when the mighty hunter burns dinner---a highly pissed off wife.  One would think the sweet, demure and highly ladylike object of our affections would simply say something like, "Oh, that's all right, dear...I'll just throw us a dinner together in the oven and have it ready in nooo time!
Love you so much!♥"    But no---a palpable change comes over the spouse, and a tension begins to hang in the air.  This never turns out well.

The Mighty Hunter Has Incinerated the Chicken

I recall the first time my dad cooked out.  He had asked a client to come to our house for dinner.  Dad prepared the coals and then poured a toddy for his guest and himself.  Pleasant conversation ensued.  Another toddy was poured.  The chicken was placed on the grill.  Another toddy was interrupted by the shrieking of my mother, as thick, black smoke poured from the grill..."ED!!  YOU'RE BURNING THE DARN CHICKEN!!!" (Note: she did not say "darn").  Long story short, the evening was a disaster.  If you are gonna drink and grill, you better stay right there with the coals.

The Mighty Hunter Has Burned the Ribs

I have learned over the years that women and men have very different notions about what constitutes proper doneness of meat, be it fish, chicken, beef or pork.  I can cook a good sized steak, for example, for 6 minutes on one side and 5 minutes on the other side over hot coals, and know it is done to my liking.  The meat is on the rare side, but that's how I like it. 

However, woman is most particular.  Woman will insist on a close inspection of the meat, first visually, cutting it open with a knife to determine color, and then with a meat thermometer to determine temperature.  Invariably, woman will return her meat to the grill.  Keep in mind that, when this occurs, the man becomes somewhat emasculated.  Remember now---the man killed the meat and he ought to be given free reign over it's preparation.  I have learned, however, that discretion is the better part of valor in these situations, and it is best to just keep my mouth shut and smile at my beautiful wife.  I employ the phrase "Yes, dear" quite often.

Success!!!

When woman at last pronounces "It's ready", the meat is lovingly collected from the grill and the proud hunter/master of the home delivers it to the dining table amid much fanfare and praise.  Success!  Yes, we eat well tonight!  Tomorrow is another adventure....

Bosses

Like most folks, I've had a number of bosses in my life.   And, like most people, the bosses I've had have pretty much run the gamut from outstanding (rare) to exceedingly poor (common), with everything in between.  The best bosses are the ones who hire very talented and devoted employees---and then get the hell outta' their way.  The worst ones are control freaks who micromanage their personnel and make the job a horror story.

I got to thinking about this subject last night when the topic came up in a conversation with Cindy.  She asked me about one particular boss I had (I'll call him "Mort") and some of the legendary, incredibly stupid things he did and said.


Very early on in my employment, I could see that there might be a potential problem in our relationship.  He told me to load my van with the equipment we sold and get ready for a trip to Johnson City, Tennessee the next day.  He said we needed to be there for a demo at noon.  I responded by saying that we would need to leave for the appointment at 6:00 AM because it was a six hour drive to Johnson City.  He said it was NOT a six hour drive---it was only four hours, and we should leave at 8:00.


This prompted an argument.  I showed him a map.  He still said we could drive there in four hours.  I gave up trying to reason with him.  We left at 8:00 the next morning.  Got there at 2:00.  The customer was livid and told us if we couldn't plan any better than that, to never come back.


Another time, we go to Jackson, Mississippi for a sales meeting.  We are sitting there with a dozen of the distributor's sales people, when someone mentioned that Jackson had been heavily involved in the fighting during the Civil War, and that they had many historical places of interest.  Mort interjected, "Hmmm...Civil War...Civil War...........(long pause).............Wasn't Abraham Lincoln president then?" 


The silence was deafening.  Finally, the president of the distributorship said, "No shit, Mort."  I mean, what more could he have said?

Then there was the time we took some important customers out to dinner.  Mort had about three martinis too many and had to be driven back to his hotel where he was poured into bed.  Mort was told the next day that he would no longer be welcome in their establishment.


Then there was the time in southern California when Mort hosted a large dinner---about 15 customers.  We had dinner and as we exited the restaurant, we stopped outside on the sidewalk to talk before going to our hotel.  As we talked, the waitress from the eatery came outside and walked up to Mort.  When he saw her, he practically screamed, "I ONLY GAVE YOU A 10% TIP BECAUSE THAT'S ALL OUR COMPANY POLICY ALLOWS!!!"  Of course, this caused quite a scene.  The waitress calmly replied, "Sir, here is your American Express card that you left inside."


Then there was the time there was a trade show in my home town.  There were six people from our company in attendance.  One night I invited them to have dinner at my home with my wife and me.  They accepted.  My wife and I went out and bought two bottles of wine and the ingredients for dinner---a large casserole that we found tasty, salad ingredients, vegetables and a dessert.  My wife prepared all of this and it was delicious.  Everyone seemed to enjoy it very much.  I was particularly proud of the fact that the entire meal only cost $75, including wine.  


When I submitted my expense report, he had a fit.  "HOW COULD YOU SPEND $75 ON THAT DINNER!?".  I told him that if we had all gone to a restaurant for dinner, the cost would have been at least three times that much.  He then applied the coup-de-grace...."It wasn't worth it."

I could tell you several more "Mort" stories, but I like to keep my blog entries short.  When I think about the Morts of the world, I do believe the Good Lord put them there for a reason---to teach the rest of us how important it is to be humble, and to be thankful we are not like them.

Dirty Dishes

We always try to have our dinner dishes washed and put away before we retire for the evening. Sometimes, however, this is just not do-able. Last night was such an occasion. We both had a long, hard day and were just barely able to crawl into bed after our late dinner.

What this meant, of course, was that we were greeted this morning with a load of dirty dishes to wash.....not really what I wanted to see first thing outta' the chute.

Rather than procrastinate, which is my usual first instinct, I decided to just get it done. Clear the sink. Put dish detergent in the sink. Fill the sink with hot water, creating a soapy, bubbly solution for the soiled plates, dishes, knives, forks, spoons, glasses, etc.

Now, let me pause here to answer my critics who would suggest that I could save myself a lot of trouble by simply loading the stuff into the dishwasher. I don't really see it that way. If you are gonna employ the dishwasher, you first have to wash off the dishes to remove the caked-on grime. Then, the appliance has to be loaded properly. Then, you have to wait while the thingy goes through the soap, wash, rinse and dry cycles. Then, you have to dry off the dishes because I've never yet seen one of the contraptions that actually got everything dry.

Therefore, I find it easier to just wash the darn dishes "a mano", as we say in Texas, dry them, and put them away and be done with it.

But I digress. I start picking up plates to put in the sudsy water and I find that someone who shares a bed with me is not in the habit of rinsing off her dirty dishes when she returns them to the sink after eating. So---her dirty dishes sit on the sink all night, the leftover food bits become dried as we sleep, and by morning her plates and silverware are caked with dried gunk.

Well, I don't want to put that in the dishwater because it will simply begin to make the clean dishwater dirty and unfit for use. So.....I have to take the time to wash her dishes off before submerging them in the soapy water. Of course, I say nothing to her about this, but why can't people just rinse off their plates and bowls and glasses when the stuff will come off easily? Sigh.

Actually, I will admit that the sound of running tap water and the swishing of dishwater tend to calm my senses. Sorta' like a trip to the beach...OK, maybe not quite like that, but you get the idea. It's almost like I'm playing in the water. I catch myself daydreaming as I wash and dry the load. I think about friends and loved ones who have gone on to Glory; good times we've had with friends; funny things that seem to happen to us on a daily basis, etc.

Hey, I guess maybe doin' the dishes isn't such a bad thing after all......

The Picnic....

We had a Sunday school picnic. They said, "Be at the park at 4:30 Saturday. Bring your supper and we'll furnish the tea."

Well, I came home at the last minute, and when I got ready to pack my lunch, all I could find in the refrigerator was one dried up piece of bologna and just enough mustard in the bottom of the jar so that I got it all over my knuckles when I tried to get it out.

And there were just two stale pieces of bread. So.......I made my bologna sandwich and wrapped it in a brown paper bag and took off for the picnic.

When it came time to eat, I sat at the end of the table and took out my sandwich. But the people next to me, well---the lady was a good cook. And she had cooked all day and she had fried chicken and potato salad and baked beans and home made rolls and sliced tomatoes and stuffed celery and deviled eggs and pickles and olives---and to top it off, two great big homemade chocolate pies.

And they spread it all out beside me, and there I was---with my bologna sandwich.

But they said to me, "Why don't we just put it all together?"

"Oh, no---I couldn't do that---I couldn't even think of it"---and I was embarrassed.

"Oh, come on.......there's plenty of chicken and pie---plenty of everything---and we just LOVE bologna sandwiches. Let's just put it all together."

So I did. And there I sat. Eating like a king when I came like a pauper.

And I get to thinking. I think of ME---sharing in the very being of God. When I think of how little I bring, and how much He brings---and that He invites me to share.

I know I should be shouting from the house tops, but I'm so filled with awe and wonder that I can hardly be heard.

I know I don't have enough love or faith or grace or mercy or wisdom---but He has.

He has all those things in abundance, and He says, "Let's just put it all together. Everything that I possess is available to you. Everything that I am and can be to a person, I will be to you."

And, when I think about it like that, it really amuses me---to see somebody running around through life hanging on to their dumb bag and their stale bologna sandwich---saying "God's not gonna get MY sandwich, no siree---not mine!"

Did you ever see anybody like that? Just so needy and about half starved to death, hanging on for dear life?

It's not that He needs your sandwich.

You need His chicken.

It's My Dad's Fault....

Cindy was repainting the front door of our home when she asked me to bring her a piece of cardboard to use as a straightedge to help her in her painting of the corners. I was quite proud of my ability to engineer a solution: I got an old cereal box out of the trash. Using scisoors, I cut one side of the box off and presented it to her. Voila! Another satisfied customer!---NOT!!!

It seems I didn't cut the edges straight enough and my solution actually caused her paint lines to be wobbly. So she had to get down off the ladder she was on and come inside the house and find herself a straight piece of cardboard.

This incident got us both to thinking about what a KLUTZ I am when it comes to accomplishing almost anything around the house.

I am not allowed inside the house---or outside, for that matter---with paint, paintbrush, tools of any kind (the one thing I am good with is a hammer. If something needs fixin', and it can be done with a hammer, I'm your guy), etc.

My banishment from trying to fix things in the house was initiated a number of years ago when I was painting the interior of our home. I was dipping my paintbrush into the full can of paint and then applying it to the walls. The gallon can of paint was sitting on the carpeted floor. My wife told me I should put the paint I was going to use into a smaller container and remove the big gallon can from the carpet---she was afraid I was going to spill paint on the carpeting. I brushed her off. Well, you guessed it---I accidentally tripped on the paint can and flooded the carpet with Sherwin Williams' best latex. I was then told in no uncertain terms that I would not be painting any more in my lifetime.

Of course, I am equally inept at using screwdrivers, plyers, saws, etc..... After literally hundreds of disastrous attempts at repairing stuff in the home and car, I have been forbidden from even thinking about it. I guess my crowning ineptitudes in my home-wrecking career have been in the plumbing and electrical repair fields. I flooded a bathroom and two bedrooms a few years back when I couldn't find the cut-off valve. Someone later suggested that maybe I should've looked for that BEFORE I started to work. Hmmm. And, of course, there was the time I blew out the circuit box when I shorted some wiring. That can be non habit forming.

I blame all of this on my dad. He couldn't fix anything, either. Guess you could say it's a genetic thing.

Adventures with Cindy

I thought Cindy was somewhere in the garage; but, since I could not hear her making noise, I arose from my desk to check on her. Indeed, she was in the garage, looking for the large sponge she uses for big cleaning jobs---like the walls and such. "I've looked and looked," she complained, "and I can't find that sponge anywhere. I know it didn't just get up and leave. It HAS to be here somewhere."

So, of course I pitched in to help her locate the lost cleaning implement. We looked in the storage room, under the sink, in the laundry room. No sponge. Finally, I gave up and went back to my desk. An hour later, exhausted, she announced that she had found the object of her search.

"Where was it?", I asked. "It had fallen behind the washing machine". "Oh", I thought. "Why didn't I look there?"

An hour later I went looking for Cindy again. I found her back in the garage. She appeared to be looking for something. This time it was a new can of paint she had bought three days ago. "I know I had it when I left the store", she said, disgustedly. "It HAS TO BE HERE SOMEWHERE!"

Of course, I helped her look for it. I looked under the seats in the cars, in the cabinets in the storage room, on the shelves in the laundry room, in the pantry, in the cabinets in the living room. I looked in all these places not once, but twice. No can of paint.

Desperate, and on the verge of giving up, I looked a third time in the laundry room. And there it was---where it was supposed to be all along. How could we have looked there over and over and not have found it?

I started to tease her. "You must be losing your mind---it was right where it was supposed to be."

It was then she reminded me of the time I couldn't find my eyeglasses. I swear I looked for them for thirty minutes. Where do you think I found them? On my face.

The FRIDGE...

I just don't know what it is about refridgerators. I mean, they come from the manufacturer all nice and clean and shiny, and within 3 weeks I turn it into a giant, cold, botannical greenhouse; growing all kinds of stuff not yet discovered by scientists. Fridges require cleaning on a regular basis. Aye, there's the rub...I DON'T WANNA CLEAN IT!

Cleaning requires my time and patience. I've got plenty of the former but damn little of the latter.

So, day after day, week after week, the ole ice box accumulates stuff---like that brown thingy growing on the celery I bought two months ago. It doesn't spoil that quickly, does it? And what the devil is that white mold stuff on the three week old grapes? Oh my God---it's also on the side of the fridge! Guess I'll HAVE to clean it now...hey wait---maybe I can hire someone to do it? Hmmm.

And the other thing about fridges is the fact that they acquire additional bottles, cartons, cans, etc every day without my knowledge. I swear I didn't buy half the stuff stuck in there. There is something very sinister going on. Could it be a neighbor is playing a joke on me---sneaking in my house every day to plant stuff in there? The inside doors have so much stuff stuck in there you can't find anything.

I took pics of the doors and then took everything out of the doors to illustrate just how much crap is in there. Why are there four bottles of soy sauce? Who the hell bought three bottles of teryaki sauce? How did two jars of marmalade get in there? Does this stuff reproduce itself? Does anyone have any answers? Please? HELP!!!