The Magical Return of a Strange Visitor from the East

Thanks for being patient with me. I hope to be back around to posting regularly within a week or so. Your Party Host has been a busy little beaver at work the past week, plus I'm still dealing with the aftermath of my recent move. We’ll get back on track with the “Know Thy Enemy” and other posts very soon. I promise. Until then, I hope you enjoy this.



Good day, ladies and gentlemen. Never afraid to beat a dead joke into the ground, it’s time once again for a visit from the Great Stranger from the East. He is the seer of all seers, a legend in his own mind, and Ryan Raburn’s personal outfield coach. Heaven has no star brighter than Rogo-nac the Tremendous!

/Rogo-nac enters and trips on the stage

Are you okay, oh great one?

I’m fine, you buffoon. I’m fine. Let us proceed before I grow weary of your stupidity. You remind me of a sports talk radio host at times. Or an LA Times sportswriter.

No need to be rude, wise one. Now, I hold in my hand a stack of envelopes. An illiterate child of four can see that they have been hermetically sealed and have been kept hidden within the unused Tiger scouting reports of Luke Scott. We now ask you, oh all-knowing Rogo-nac, to use your unbelievable powers to give the answers before opening the envelopes and reading their questions. Are you ready, sir?

Sure thing. Bring it.

Hermetically sealed…

Indeed.

Within the Tiger scouting reports of Luke Scott.

Where no one has apparently EVER looked. Let’s go.

Ladies and gentlemen, the first envelope!

Rogo-nac must have COMPLETE SILENCE!

Rogo-nac almost always receives nothing but silence.

May your team’s manager pencil Don Kelly in as the #3 hitter.

Haha…so sad. Begin, sir.

/puts envelope to forehead

“Fosters” and “Brad Thomas”.

/rip…poof

What is Australian for “beer” and for “suck”?

HOHO…yes! Brad Thomas is an abortion, sir.

/puts envelope to forehead

Charlie Furbush.

This can’t be good…

/rip…poof

Name the pet names Sheen and his porno girlfriend gave each other.

Hahahaha…didn’t they break up, unerring one?

Silence, you twit. May Cale Iorg be your team’s future shortstop.

/puts envelope to forehead

Herpes, gonorrhea, and crabs.

Good lord…

/rip…poof

What did Brad Penny receive from Alyssa Milano on their first date?

Zing! Hoho…what a tramp, sir. But quite attractive…how does Penny do it?

/puts envelope to forehead

Tampa Bay…Bucs?

Was that a question, sir?

/rip…poof

Where did Johnny Damon tell his wife he was playing and what was her first question about it.

Hoho..Tampa and BUCKS! That gold digger…you haven’t forgotten her, have you, sir?

May Buckeye Cable be your only apparent way to watch your favorite team.

/puts envelope to forehead

Weinhardt.

/rip…poof

What is Cabrera forbidden from drinking and what is Will Rhymes’ only good quality.

Wine and heart…hmmm. Not your best, usually awesome one.

May your backup plan at catcher be a guy named “Omir”.

May your GM empty the bank for a setup man that your manager won’t use at the proper time.

May your minors be stocked with pitchers named “Lester”, “Duane”, and “Charlie”.

Enough, sir. I apologize.

/puts envelope to forehead

Roundhouse, Robert, and Magglio Ordonez

Roundhouse…Robert…Magglio. Got it.

/rip…poof

Name a kick, a Fick, and a spi…

HYOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Watch it, oh great one. Hahaha…

/puts envelope to forehead

Stink, The Jersey Shore, the Tigers’ starting lineup

No clue where you’re going, sir…

/rip…poof

Name Schlereth’s dad, an annoying fad, and something incredibly sad.

Hahaha…oh yes.

/puts envelope to forehead

Austin Jackson and Mike Ilitch’s finances.

/rip…poof

Name the only things associated with the Tigers that are “in the black”.

Ugh…you’re reaching.

Go away. May your team ruin Jacob Turner like they did Rick Porcello.

May Lloyd McClendon be the only one you can talk to about improving your swing.

/puts envelope to forehead

Casey Daigle’s hot wife and Milton Bradley.

Okay…

/rip…poof

Who are Jennie Finch and Jose Valverde’s bitch?

HYOOOO! Milton Bradley can go to hell, sir. Yes!

/puts envelope to forehead

Rhymes and Sara Ree.

Rhymes and…who…Sara Ree?

/rip…poof

What did Fu-Te Ni say were his favorite fruits and vegetables?

HOHO…limes and celery! It NEVER gets old, Rogo-nac! Haha…

/puts envelope to forehead

Jim Leyland’s brain and Will Rhymes.

Sigh. Poor Will...

/rip…poof

Name two things too small to be useful.

Ha…ugh. Well, that was obvious.

May Richard Bernstein draw you a map to the courthouse.

/puts envelope to forehead

Auburn cheerleaders and Scott Sizemore.

What the…

Rip…poof

Name things that continue to get mindlessly screwed by Tigers.

Hohoho...I bet Cam Newton has superAIDS. Ha…

May your most promising rookie be named “Brayan”.

May a fellow blogger bully you into an unfunny Rogo-nac post.

Please, sir. The next envelope. We are nearly through.

/puts envelope to forehead

Carlos Guillen, Joel Zumaya, and Charlie Sheen.

/rip…poof

Name three people you won’t see playing in Detroit again.

Hahaha…too true. Winning, indeed.

/puts envelope to forehead

Striking out.

Striking…out. Yes.

/rip…poof

What does Rogo's hitting on an attractive woman have in common with the average Brandon Inge at bat?

Ha…yes. Both are pathetic, sir.

May Phil Coke become your personal stylist.

Hoho…okay, sir. I hold in my hands the LAST ENVELOPE!

(audience roars)

Thank the lord.

May Jim Leyland make your team’s personnel decisions.

May Al Alburquerque be your team’s most stable middle reliever.

May Max Scherzer give you pink eye.

PLEASE, SIR! The final envelope!

/puts envelope to forehead

A Miguel Cabrera homer and Don Kelly.

A Cabby homer and Kelly. Let’s hear it…

/rip…poof

Name a majestic hit and a pile of shit.

HYOOOOO! Haha, yes! Thank you, oh great one! See you next time! Have a safe trip home! Hohohohohohoho…

Blonde Funnies / Simon's cat ...



Well Folks,

I finally hit my 65th birthday last week so I am now 'officially' a Senior Citizen .... OMG imagine that! Can anyone tell me why it is that in my head I still feel like a 21 year old and when will I ever get used to seeing my image reflected in shop windows and wonder who's reflection it is?

I hope you enjoy today's funnies ...

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

I heard recently that the 'powers that be' had sent my friend's Census form back to him...

You see, in answer to the question : Do you have any dependants?
he had written: - Asylum seekers, gypsies, smack heads, unemployable beggers, the cast of The Jeremy Kyle Show, Northern Rock, RBS, Ireland, Portugal and half of Eastern Europe !"

Apparently, this wasn't an acceptable answer!"


~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~


DISNEYLAND ...
Two blondes were going to Disneyland. They were driving on the Interstate when they saw the sign that said Disneyland LEFT. They started crying and turned around and went
home.

CAR TROUBLE ...
A blonde pushes her BMW into a gas station. She tells the
mechanic it died. After he works on it for a few minutes, it is idling smoothly.
She says, 'What's the story?' He replies, 'Just crap in the carburetor'She asks, 'How often do I have to do that?'

SPEEDING TICKET...
A police officer stops a blonde for speeding and asks her very nicely if he could see her license. She replied in a huff, 'I wish you guys would get your act together.
Just yesterday you take away my license and then today you expect me to show it to you!'


RIVER WALK ...

There's this blonde out for a walk. She comes to a river and sees another blonde on the opposite bank 'Yoo-hoo!' she shouts, 'How can I get to the other side?'
The second blonde looks up the river then down the river and shouts back, 'You ARE on the other side.'

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Isn't it funny how cartoon drawings can make this 'moggie' seem so lifelike ... Enjoy !





Cheers, Kate xxx.

Funnies from the mouths of babes / An Irish comedian ...



A little girl was talking to her teacher about whales. The teacher said it was physically impossible for a whale to swallow a human because even though it was a very large mammal its throat was very small. The little girl stated that Jonah was swallowed by a whale. Irritated, the teacher reiterated that a whale could not swallow a human; it was physically impossible.
The little girl said, 'When I get to heaven I will ask Jonah'. The teacher asked, 'What if Jonah went to hell?' The little girl replied, 'Then you ask him'.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

A Kindergarten teacher was observing her classroom of children while they were drawing. She would occasionally walk around to see each child's work. As she got to one little girl who was working diligently, she asked what the drawing was. The girl replied, 'I'm drawing God.'
The teacher paused and said, 'But no one knows what God looks like.' Without missing a beat, or looking up from her drawing, the girl replied, 'They will in a minute.'

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

A Sunday school teacher was discussing the Ten Commandments with her five and six year olds. After explaining the commandment to 'honour' thy Father and thy Mother, she asked, 'Is there a commandment that teaches us how to treat our brothers and sisters?' Without missing a beat one little boy (the oldest of a family) answered, 'Thou shall not kill.'

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

One day a little girl was sitting and watching her mother do the dishes at the kitchen sink. She suddenly noticed that her mother had several strands of white hair sticking out in contrast on her brunette head. She looked at her mother and inquisitively asked, 'Why are some of your hairs white, Mum?'

Her mother replied, 'Well, every time that you do something wrong and make me cry or unhappy, one of my hairs turns white.' The little girl thought about this revelation for a while and then said, 'Mummy, how come ALL of grandma's hairs are white?'

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

The children had all been photographed, and the teacher was trying to persuade them each to buy a copy of the group picture. 'Just think how nice it will be to look at it when you are all grown up and say, 'There's Jennifer, she's a lawyer,' or 'That's Michael, He's a doctor.'

A small voice at the back of the room rang out, 'And there's the teacher, she's dead.'

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

A teacher was giving a lesson on the circulation of the blood. Trying to make the matter clearer, she said, 'Now, class, if I stood on my head, the blood, as you know, would run into it, and I would turn red in the face.' 'Yes,' the class said. 'Then why is it that while I am standing upright in the ordinary position the blood doesn't run into my feet?'

A little fellow shouted, 'Cause your feet ain't empty.'

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

The children were lined up in the cafeteria of a Catholic elementary school for lunch. At the head of the table was a large pile of apples. The nun made a note, and posted on the apple tray: 'Take only ONE . God is watching.'

Moving further along the lunch line, at the other end of the table was a large pile of chocolate chip cookies. A child had written a note, 'Take all you want. God is watching the apples.'

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

This is a funny video with some salty language - an Irish take on an awkward situation it could only happen to Mrs. Brown ...... Rob and I went to see one of his shows in a Glasgow theatre a couple of years ago and I must admit that I darn near choked with laughter... Now I normally can't stand shows with comedians who swear all the time but when Irish comedian Brendan Caroll acting as Mrs. Brown is swearing away it somehow doesn't seem so bad - weird I know !







Cheers from the land of the Tartan, Kate xxx.

Moving Violations

Hey, kids.  Here's a quick update on things around here.

I have moved into the Bermuda Triangle of Toledo, OH.  My internet service was supposed to be turned on sometime on Thursday.  Come Saturday, I still had nothing.  I called AT&T and they are sending someone out to look at things today, Monday, between 4-8pm.  Joy.  So I haven't been online.  I can only imagine the wit and wisdom in sports writing that I have missed.  I'm currently typing this up at work while no one is looking.

In addition, I have been without television.  Friday, I waited all day for DirecTV to come out.  Finally, they arrive and say they can't get a signal at my new place.  I was then subjected to multiple phone calls with DirecTV reps that seemed to speak English as a third language.  They have yet to refund the cash I paid up front for their service.  I tried to get AT&T U-Verse over the weekend, but they don't service my building despite a friend of mine two blocks away having it.  So, I'm going to have to go with Buckeye Cable who charges an absurd amount of money to watch and listen to things I need in my life, such as Rod Allen confusing his left from his right on a nightly basis.

So I haven't seen baseball in nearly a week.  And we're doing well.  Think there's a connection?  Whatever.  Point is, I'm working on things and will be back to coming up with new ways to call Don Kelly a worthless prick in no time.  Hang in there...as I am attempting to do.

And as always, thanks for reading this silly stuff here.  Seacrest out...for now.

A Love Story ......

*



Hi There,

The Truth:
The story of Herman and Roma Rosenblat was thought to be true but according to a December 28, 2008 Associated Press (AP) article, Rosenblat recently "acknowledged that he and his wife did not meet, as they had said for years, at a sub-camp of Buchenwald, where she allegedly sneaked him apples and bread".

A book titled "Angel at the Fence" was written by Rosenblat based on his "story of love born on opposite sides of a barbed-wire fence at a concentration camp." According the AP story the publisher cancelled his memoir that was due for release in February 2009.

According to the news report, "Rosenblat, 79, has been married to the former Roma Radzicky for 50 years, since meeting her on a blind date in New York. In a statement issued Saturday through his agent, he described himself as an advocate of love and tolerance who falsified his past to better spread his message." According to the article, Rosenblat said that he "wanted to bring happiness to people," and that he wanted to bring "hope to a lot of people." He went on to say that his "motivation was to make good in this world."

Prior to this new report, a company named Atlantic Overseas Pictures was producing a film about them. It is not known if this motion picture will still be in production.


P.S. What a pity, it's still a good story and after all film makers are inclined to embellish even 'true' stories to make the stories on film seem more exciting etc... Kate xxx.


The Story:
A Girl With an Apple......

August 1942. Piotrkow, Poland. The sky was gloomy that morning as we waited anxiously. All the men, women and children of Piotrkow's Jewish ghetto had been herded into a square. Word had gotten around that we were being moved. My father had only recently died from typhus, which had run rampant through the crowded ghetto. My greatest fear was that our family would be separated.

'Whatever you do,' Isidore, my eldest brother, whispered to me, 'don't tell them your age. Say you're sixteen.' I was tall for a boy of 11, so I could pull it off. That way I might be deemed valuable as a worker. An SS man approached me, boots clicking against the cobblestones. He looked me up and down, then asked my age. 'Sixteen,' I said. He directed me to the left, where my three brothers and other healthy young men already stood.

My mother was motioned to the right with the other women, children, sick and elderly people. I whispered to Isidore, 'Why?' He didn't answer. I ran to Mama's side and said I wanted to stay with her. 'No,' she said sternly. 'Get away. Don't be a nuisance. Go with your brothers.' She had never spoken so harshly before. But I understood: She was protecting me. She loved me so much that, just this once, she pretended not to. It was the last I ever saw of her.

My brothers and I were transported in a cattle car to Germany. We arrived at the Buchenwald concentration camp one night weeks later and were led into a crowded barrack. The next day, we were issued uniforms and identification numbers. 'Don't call me Herman anymore.' I said to my brothers. 'Call me 94983.'

I was put to work in the camp's crematorium, loading the dead into a hand-cranked elevator. I, too, felt dead. Hardened - I had become a number. Soon, my brothers and I were sent to Schlieben, one of Buchenwald's sub-camps near Berlin.

One morning I thought I heard my mother's voice, 'Son,' she said softly but clearly, I am going to send you an angel.' Then I woke up. Just a dream. A beautiful dream. But in this place there could be no angels. There was only work. And hunger. And fear.

A couple of days later, I was walking around the camp, around the barracks, near the barbed-wire fence where the guards could not easily see. I was alone. On the other side of the fence, I spotted someone: a little girl with light, almost luminous curls. She was half-hidden behind a birch tree. I glanced around to make sure no one saw me. I called to her softly in German.

'Do you have something to eat?' She didn't understand. I inched closer to the fence and repeated question in Polish. She stepped forward. I was thin and gaunt, with rags wrapped around my feet, but the girl looked unafraid. In her eyes, I saw life. She pulled an apple from her woolen jacket and threw it over the fence. I grabbed the fruit and, as I started to run away, I heard her say faintly, 'I'll see you tomorrow.'

I returned to the same spot by the fence at the same time every day. She was always there with something for me to eat - a hunk of bread or, better yet, an apple. We didn't dare speak or linger. To be caught would mean death for us both. I didn't know anything about her, just a kind farm girl, except that she understood Polish. What was her name? Why was she risking her life for me? Hope was in such short supply, and this girl on the other side of the fence gave me some, as nourishing in its way as the bread and apples.

Nearly seven months later, my brothers and I were crammed into a coal car and shipped to Theresienstadt camp in Czechoslovakia. 'Don't return,' I told the girl that day. 'We're leaving.' I turned toward the barracks and didn't look back, didn't even say good-bye to the little girl whose name I'd never learned, the girl with the apples.

We were in Theresienstadt for three months. The war was winding down and Allied forces were closing in, yet my fate seemed sealed. On May 10, 1945, I was scheduled to die in the gas chamber at 10:00 AM. In the quiet of dawn, I tried to prepare myself. So many times death seemed ready to claim me, but somehow I'd survived. Now, it was over. I thought of my parents. At least, I thought, we will be reunited.

But at 8 A.M. there was a commotion. I heard shouts, and saw people running every which way through camp. I caught up with my brothers. Russian troops had liberated the camp! The gates swung open. Everyone was running,
so I did too.

Amazingly, all of my brothers had survived; I'm not sure how. But I knew that the girl with the apples had been the key to my survival. In a place where evil seemed triumphant, one person's goodness had saved my life, had given me hope in a place where there was none. My mother had promised to send me an angel, and the angel had come.

Eventually I made my way to England where I was sponsored by a Jewish charity, put up in a hostel with other boys who had survived the Holocaust and trained in electronics. Then I came to America, where my brother Sam had already moved. I served in the U. S. Army during the Korean War, and returned to New York City after two years. By August 1957 I'd opened my own electronics repair shop. I was starting to settle in.

One day, my friend Sid who I knew from England called me. 'I've got a date. She's got a Polish friend. Let's double date.' A blind date? Nah, that wasn't for me. But Sid kept pestering me, and Bronx to pick up his date and her
friend Roma. I had to admit, for a blind date this wasn't so bad. Roma was a nurse at a Bronx hospital. She was kind and smart. Beautiful, too, with swirling brown curls and green, almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with life.

The four of us drove out to Coney Island. Roma was easy to talk to, easy to be with. Turned out she was wary of blind dates too! We were both just doing our friends a favor. We took a stroll on the boardwalk, enjoying the salty Atlantic breeze, and then had dinner by the shore. I couldn't remember having a better time.

We piled back into Sid's car, Roma and I sharing the backseat. As European Jews who had survived the war, we were aware that much had been left unsaid between us. She broached the subject, 'Where were you,' she asked softly, 'during the war?'

'The camps,' I said, the terrible memories still vivid, the irreparable loss. I had tried to forget. But you can never forget. She nodded. 'My family was hiding on a farm in Germany, not far from Berlin,' she told me. 'My father knew a priest, and he got us Aryan papers.' I imagined how she must have suffered too, fear, a constant companion. And yet here we were, both survivors, in a new world.

'There was a camp next to the farm.' Roma continued. 'I saw a boy there and I would throw him apples every day.'What an amazing coincidence that she had helped some other boy. 'What did he look like? I asked. He was tall, skinny, and hungry. I must have seen him every day for six months.' My heart was racing. I couldn't believe it. This couldn't be. 'Did he tell you one day not to come back because he was leaving Schlieben?'

Roma looked at me in amazement. 'Yes,' That was me! ' I was ready to burst with joy and awe, flooded with emotions. I couldn't believe it! My angel. 'I'm not letting you go.' I said to Roma. And in the back of the car on that blind date, I proposed to her. I didn't want to wait. 'You're crazy!' she said. But she invited me to meet her parents for Shabbat dinner the following week. There was so much I looked forward to learning about Roma, but the most important things I always knew: her steadfastness, her goodness. For many months, in the worst of circumstances, she had come to the fence and given me hope. Now that I'd found her again, I could never let her go.

That day, she said yes. And I kept my word. After nearly 50 years of marriage, two children and three grandchildren I have never let her go.

Herman Rosenblat, Miami Beach, Florida ...



Love and Peace, Kate xxx.

Airport runway with parking/ Civil Rights / Scrabble...

*






Great Engineering ...

They should build them all like this with plenty of parking spaces underneath. Now, here's something you don't see every day! The new airport runway on the Portuguese island of Madeira. The runway has a length of 2781 meters, (9000 ft), of which 1000 meters are supported by 180 pillars, each pillar 50 meters in length (about 17 floors). The runway is designed to accommodate 747's. Note the cars parked below the runway. It's a bit like landing on an aircraft carrier. The second picture best shows how high it is -- and let's not even think about running off that runway!

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Question:


How do you tell the difference between a British Police Officer, an Australian Police Officer and an American Police Officer?

Answer :
Pose the following question:

You're walking down a deserted street with your wife and two small children. Suddenly, a dangerous looking man with a huge knife comes around the corner, locks eyes with you, screams obscenities, raises the knife, and charges.You are carrying a Glock .40, and you are an expert shot. You have mere seconds before he reaches you and your family. What do you do?

BRITISH POLICE OFFICER'S Answer :

Well, that's not enough information to answer the question!
Does the man look poor or oppressed? Is he Asian black or a muslim?

1) Have I ever done anything to him that would inspire him to attack?
2) Could we run away?
3) Could I possibly swing the gun like a club and knock the knife out of his hand?
4) What does the law say about this situation?
5) Does the Glock have appropriate safety built into it?
6) Why am I carrying a loaded gun anyway, and what kind of message does this send to society and to my children?
7) Does he definitely want to kill me, or would he be content just to wound me?
8) If I were to grab his knees and hold on, could my family get away while he was stabbing me?
9) Should I call 999?
10) If I raise my gun and he turns and runs away, do I get blamed when he falls over, knocks his head and kills himself? .
11) If I shoot him, and lose the court case, does he have the opportunity to sue me, cost me my job, my credibility and the loss of my family home? or prosecute me for racial abuse


AUSTRALIAN OFFICER'S Answer:
BANG!

AMERICAN OFFICER'S Answer:
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! 'click'....

Daughter: 'Nice grouping, Dad! Were those the Winchester Silver Tips?'


So 'what' does this story tell us about the state of Britain today ?? We can do nothing. We can say nothing. We are nothing ! Our British way of life is no more, it has disintegrated, we cannot be ourselves as we used to be before Brussels (and the EEC).

We have been put down and drowned by human rights legislation. Silly legislation ! Christianity is becoming the minority in our own land. The good honest upright citizens have little or no rights and the bad, dishonest cowards in our society have all the rights now ...

There 'is' nothing we can do now !!


~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

This has got to be one of the cleverest E-mails I've received in awhile. Someone out there must be "deadly" at Scrabble.

PRESBYTERIAN
:
When you rearrange the letters:
BEST IN PRAYER


ASTRONOMER
:
When you rearrange the letters:
MOON STARER


DESPERATION
:
When you rearrange the letters:
A ROPE ENDS IT


THE EYES
:
When you rearrange the letters:
THEY SEE

GEORGE BUSH:
When you rearrange the letters:
HE BUGS GORE

THE MORSE CODE
:
When you rearrange the letters:
HERE COME DOTS

DORMITORY
:
When you rearrange the letters:
DIRTY ROOM


SLOT MACHINES
:
When you rearrange the letters:
CASH LOST IN ME


ANIMOSITY
:
When you rearrange the letters:
IS NO AMITY


ELECTION RESULTS
:
When you rearrange the letters:
LIES - LET'S RECOUNT


SNOOZE ALARMS
:
When you rearrange the letters:
ALAS ! NO MORE
Z'S

A DECIMAL POINT
:
When you rearrange the letters:
I'M A DOT IN PLACE


THE EARTHQUAKES
:
When you rearrange the letters:
THAT QUEER SHAKE


ELEVEN PLUS TWO
:
When you rearrange the letters:
TWELVE PLUS ONE


AND FOR THE GRAND FINALE:

MOTHER-IN-LAW
:
When you rearrange the letters:
WOMAN HITLER


~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

The Menopausal Prayer ...

Now I lay me Down to sleep,
I pray the Lord My shape to keep.
Please no wrinkles Please no bags,
And please lift my butt Before it sags.

Please no age spots Please no grey,
And as for my belly, Please take it away.
Please keep me healthy, Please keep me young,
And thank you Dear Lord - For all that you've done.

AMEN ......


Love and Peace Kate xxx.

Sending Myself Down to Toledo

So, in an effort to save a small fortune on gas, move closer to work, and more importantly, be closer to my son, I will be spending the next few days moving back to Toledo.  Thus, there probably won't be any further updates on here until after Easter.  I should hopefully be settled in by then unless I somehow recreate the picture above.

As I write this, we are down 4-1 to Seattle in the 4th inning, but I don't care.  I'm too upset at this team.  And it's not just because Don Kelly is hitting third today.  (Really, Jim?  Someone kill Leyland.  He wants to lose.)  I'm upset because I just can't see how they could pass up the obvious promotion from the Hens for today...it blows my mind.

No, I'm not beating the "Free Scott Sizemore" drum again.  Well, not right now.

I'm upset at the Tigers for not bringing up Charlie Furbush for this game against the M's.  I mean, how can this team deprive the us from seeing the epic Fister/Furbush confrontation the world has been waiting for?  I know I'd like to see Rod describing the dynamics of Fister/Furbush.

See you soon.  Fister/Furbush...ha, I kill me.

/shows self out

Wild Animal (The Simple Dog Goes for a Joy Ride)

My simple-minded dog recently went on an unplanned adventure. Because the simple dog is so very simple, her adventure was alarming and horrible for everyone involved.  

Even in her normal, familiar environment, the simple dog exists in a state of almost constant confusion. 


She also appears to have very little control over what she is doing or why she is doing it.  For example, the other day, she was standing in the middle of the room just staring vacantly. Then she started turning in circles like she was preparing to lie down.   


But instead of completing a few rotations and then lying down like a normal dog, she got stuck in the repetitive motion and couldn't stop turning slowly in place. 


She is definitely not the type of animal that would thrive in the wild.

Unfortunately, she managed to escape one day while we were out walking, and she very nearly became a wild animal.  

In the park where we were walking, there is a large horse statue.  We had passed the statue many times without incident, but for some reason, on that day, the simple dog became highly alarmed by it.  


No one expects their dog to instantaneously develop an extremely specific fear of horse statues, and I was unprepared for her reaction, which was to sprint powerfully in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, what the simple dog lacks in cognitive capacity, she makes up in ground speed, and her sudden fleeing yanked the leash from my hand.  

I chased her all the way across the park and into an adjacent neighborhood. She ran into a partially fenced yard and, when her forward trajectory was interrupted by the fence, she began to gallop in giant, crazy circles just out of my reach.   

I'm fairly certain she had already forgotten what she was running from and had no idea what was going on, but there she was - propelling herself in endless loops around someone else's yard.  


After several minutes of tearing around in circles, she felt compelled to take off running in a straight line.   She didn't know where she was going, but she was going to go there really fast.  

I have spent a truly impressive amount of time teaching the simple dog how to respond to her name. I distinctly remember the self-congratulatory feelings I had when I thought I'd succeeded. I've done it, I thought.  I've overcome all of the obstacles and taught this animal her name, and now she will return to me like a falcon whenever I beckon her.  

But as I watched my dog disappear into the distance, I realized just how futile my efforts had been.  

I spent the rest of the day frantically trying to find her.  I drove around calling for her on the off-chance that she would actually respond.  I stopped random people on the street to ask them if they'd seen her.  It started to get dark and I imagined my poor dog, lost and scared - completely unable to make sense of what was happening to her.   


Finally, I got a call from a woman who had managed to catch the simple dog.  The woman said that she found the simple dog standing in the middle of the road, wagging her tail and barking at cars. She gave me her address and I drove over to collect my wayward animal.    

When I got there, the simple dog was curled up in a little ball on a towel on the woman's floor. I walked over to her and she looked confused.  


She had forgotten who I was.  She thought she lived on the towel.  


She was wet and dirty and she stunk like she had rolled on a dead animal.  There were burrs in her tail. She had puked up a pile of half-digested grass onto the woman's nice wood floor and was attempting to re-ingest it.   

Based on the evidence, her adventure went something like this: 


I helped the woman clean up the mess that my disgraceful animal had created in her home, then I thanked her and called my dog to go.  


The simple dog did not respond, so I picked her up and carried her out. 

 

I was glad to have her back, even though she didn't know who I was.  I couldn't blame her for forgetting.  A dog who becomes terrified by the mere existence of a stone rendering of a horse is not a dog who is well-prepared to absorb hundreds of unfamiliar sights and sounds, and I reasoned that she was most likely still in shock. I can only imagine how overwhelming the whole ordeal must have been from her perspective:


Perhaps unsurprisingly, the simple dog had trouble readjusting to being at home in the aftermath of her big adventure.  


Because of her cognitive handicap, the simple dog is at a unique disadvantage when it comes to coping with minor obstacles that most dogs would take in stride. For most dogs, getting a taste of freedom wouldn't be something that would cause a major shift in their perception of reality. But it absolutely ruined the simple dog. 

She had only been outside by herself for a few hours, but the staggering amount of new experiences had crowded out all her memories from before the adventure. 


As far as the simple dog was concerned, she had been snatched away from her life as a wild, towel-dwelling animal and transplanted to a strange wonderland filled with terrifyingly unfamiliar sensory bombardments.  


We have experienced these episodes a few times before.  From what I understand, they are a pretty normal consequence of disabled-dog-husbandry, and are usually pretty fleeting. But this one was different.  This time, the precipitating incident had been so extremely, entirely mind-bending that the simple dog had actually forgotten how to be a domesticated animal.

We had to teach her how to use the stairs all over again. 


Despite having been potty-trained for the overwhelming majority of her life, she started blatantly soiling the carpet right in front of us, as if she had no idea she was doing anything wrong.


She violently destroyed every toy she had - even her inexplicably-patriotic-themed squeaky owl toy, which is her favorite.  


And after she destroyed her owl, she grieved.  And we had to sew it up for her to avoid pushing her any further into psychosis.  


She forgot her name and how to sit and all of the various other things we'd spent so many hours carefully guiding her to understand.  


We did eventually manage to re-domesticate the simple dog. She re-learned stairs and how to not pee in the house and how to respond properly when her name is called.  She may not remember exactly who we are, but she seems to accept that she lives with us now.  She even plays nicely with her toys.  

But every now and then, she will stare wistfully out the window.        


And through the window, she will see the outdoors. 


And sometimes, when the shapes of the trees and grass and birds hit her brain in just the right way, she will feel the call of the wild deep within her soul. 

And it will trigger a relapse.