She Stole Some Peaches Your Honor


I live by the creed that life is too short so I might as well be happy as much as I can.

While I am enjoying my journey, I often find the majority of those I meet looking like their life’s job was being a lemon taster.

I am blessed that I married my best friend, enjoy life, and love a good story, I’ll share the following:

An 81 year old woman was arrested for shop lifting.
When she went before the judge he asked her, “What did you steal?”
She replied, “A can of peaches.”
The judge then asked her why she had stolen the can of peaches, and she replied that she was hungry.
The judge then asked her how many peaches were in the can.
She replied, “6.”
The judge said, “Then I’ll give you 6 days in jail.”
Before the judge could conclude the trial, the woman’s husband spoke……and asked the judge if he could say something.
The judge said, “What is it?”
The husband said, “She also stole a can of peas.”

We chuckle at the husband’s cleverness but I think I’ll stick with what the “Good Book” advises on dealing with difficult people, “Kill your enemy with kindness.” In this case, it would be the best advice, (pardon the pun) “bar (s) none”

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Why is New Always Better?


Why is new always better? That statement “new is better” is made all the time. A brand name food you have purchased for 20 years now says, “New and improved flavor!” What if I don’t want it new? What do I do if it now tastes like a moldy sweat sock?

New and improved goes high tech too. Check into Facebook lately? Every time I get it figured out, they change it again. New friends features, themes, pokes and blocks. I imagine tech geeks sitting in a room somewhere saying, “let’s add more confusion, let’s just ratchet it up a notch by adding inane games by the handfuls.” I can’t even keep up with my own reality without worrying if my friends have enough fictitious cows, tractors, jewels, or treasure items. If my friends insist on asking me for farm items a million times like they do, I am confident I can scrounge up some real fertilizer and have it delivered to their apartment homes to assist them in their quest.

I’m embarrassed to admit that when I upgraded to a new cellphone, I instantly had to call my son for help. It reminded me of when he was a child in the bathroom being potty trained and when he was done, he’d call me to finish the job. Except now it was in reverse. I almost do that same whine he did when he felt helpless and needed the job done. “Son, I’m all done now, come and help me!”

I know I’m in good company when it comes to technological impairment. I see numerous people overwhelmed daily. I was sitting in a hospital break room not long ago when an older gentleman became befuddled with the room’s microwave. He turned to me exasperated and said, “how do you open this silly thing?” The situation would have been hilarious if it wasn’t so pitiful. He had no dementia, he had complete control of his faculties except he was trying to put his meal in a radio.

I’m with him; a microwave needs an on, off, and timer button, that’s it. I feel like I’m playing a video game just turning on my microwave anymore. In fact, I think the cockpit in the Apollo 12 spaceship had less buttons.

I do wish some of the manufacturers that peddle the “new and improved” stuff knew what I know. The truth is, the only person in this world that welcomes change is a wet baby.

I am making strides, I ditched my VHS player for a DVD player not long ago. What thrills me is not that the technology offers me a better picture. I’m thrilled that for the first time in ten years I have a new piece of equipment that doesn’t incessantly blink the number 12. I never could figure out how to set the time on the blasted thing.

So what new technologies will I try tonight? I think I’ll just unplug the TV and keep it on the 24 hour Amish Channel. Nothing ever changes on this station 🙂

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Knock Me Out, I’m Visiting a Clinic


If you haven’t been to the doctors office recently, you’re in for a real treat. Thanks to the high cost of medicine lately, people in waiting rooms are sicker than ever.

Don’t believe me, just walk into a waiting room and observe. The sickest barely walk in and sit down. Within moments of their sneezing, coughing, itching, and groans from lumbago, like oil drops in water, the healthiest of us migrate to the sides of the room to avoid the airborne germ particles. As quickly as a moth is drawn to a lightbulb the healthiest of us stay clear, we can’t help it.

If your physician’s office more and more sounds like a tuberculosis ward, you know you’re in the right place. It’s nice the practice supplies magazines, but do you really want to pick one of them up and read it? I find it ironic that every office I’ve been in, has a copy of Health Magazine on the side tables yet it probably has a bacteria count of a porta-potty at Woodstock 2.

To get my mind off my strained visit, I choose to entertain myself by staring at the frazzled mother with five children that looks like she combed her hair with a pitchfork. Wearing garish pajamas while ignoring her brood of five runny noses, she repeats as if she’s a broken record one word for a solid hour “Queee-it”. Her southern accent makes the word quit sound like a two-syllable word. The five ignore her like a flea on a hound dog.

It’s at this time the song by Dr. Demento, “They’re coming to take me away to the Funny Farm” begins to play endlessly in my head.

I begin to wonder how this germ infested bus stop will affect my blood pressure reading when I am called. I can only imagine the nurse taking my pulse and blood pressure only to stand back and yell like she’s waiting for a whale to spew, “He’s going to blow!”

When I was summoned to the exam room, the wait had changed my status. My blood pressure was through the roof and my resting heart rate was as if I had ridden a roller coaster without a safety harness.

The unexpected EKG and muscle relaxant was my release to go home. The kicker was I had only come to the office for minor blood work and now I was leaving with a prescription to take it easy.

Next time I visit the doctors office I better be hallucinating and do what they do when you have wisdom teeth pulled, knock me out!

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Getting Your Body Back


I was perusing the magazine section at my local grocery store and a cover caught my eye. Not because the cover sported a gorgeous fit blond on the front, but it was the headline that drew me in. Emblazoned in bold letters the title stated, “Get Your Body Back.” My first thought was from whom? If one day my body is donated to science, it no doubt will be to science fiction.

I was born chunky; that’s my body type. When my wife and I hold hands on a walk, children run up to us like celebrities because they think we’re the number 10 on Sesame Street. When it comes to eating properly and exercising, I do believe we’ve been lied too by the “experts”. If water is non-caloric, then why are all snowmen round and fat? Everything that even has one shred of good taste, we’re admonished to spit it put. I guess it’s plywood (celery) and gravelola (granola) until the day I can proudly wear my Depends with suspenders.

If reaching a target heart rate is so imperative to good health, why can I achieve my target without exercising?All I have to do is open my checkbook while drinking a caffeinated beverage.

Not wanting to discourage those that look at me as a roll model, “Roll” being the operative word. I attended a church outing with a Little Debbie wrapper taped to my upper forearm. When asked why it was there, I informed them that I was trying to quit and I was on the patch. I was disappointed, it didn’t work!

It is an inconvenience to buy clothes in my size. I can never get clothes that fit properly. My Bangladeshy shirts fit like I purchased pup tents from LL Bean and left out the center poles. When I purchase pants I usually have to cut them off at the knees then hem them so they can be the correct length. In my mind when my clothes are being manufactured, I have an image of a foreign worker, eyes wide, wondering, “Are all Americans built like Frosty the Snowman with a shrunken head?” Every shirt when buttoned makes me look like I have a goiter because it’s so tight my eyes bulge. If I move the neck button over any more, it would be on my right shoulder.

I have now started my newest and most exciting diet yet and whether I have success or not, this time I will not envy the muscle man on the magazine cover. Yes I know he’s sculpted like a god, but so am I. Buddha counts right?

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