What The F*ck Would You Do?

I am not one of those people who sticks his nose into others business. If you are having a screaming, cursing fight with your girlfriend I will walk the other way. Unless somebody is in danger of death, I mind my own damned business, and even then if I don't know all the facts I might step aside.
"Sorry maam, I didn't know he came at you with a hatchet. Go right ahead and shoot him."

I have a large, extremely strong dog. For the most part he behaves, and obeys me. The only trouble I ever have with him is when a bicycle or motorcycle goes by. If I see them coming I can take Chandler aside and keep him calm, but sometimes, like last Friday, they sneak up on me.

We were taking our afternoon walk when one of the morons that live next door to me came buzzing by on a mini-motorcycle. You know, the kind that kids are always getting killed on because the cars can't see them. Anyway, Chandler went nuts, and took off after it. Thanks to the new bouncy leash my mom gave Chandler, he didn't tear my arm off. Instead he reached the end, and I jerked him back, yelling "NO!". That didn't seem to faze him. He ran again after the motorcycle, again hitting the end of the leash. I jerked him back again. On his third try I jerked him back and gave him a slap on the ass just to get his attention. When everything finally got calmed down, I heard somebody yelling. It was some punky young guy hanging out the passenger window of a pickup truck a half block away. As I walked towards the truck I could hear him.
"I'm calling the police!"
I was confused, why would he call the police.
"You have a problem?", I asked him. He then informed me that he saw me abusing 'that dog', and he was reporting me.
I suddenly turned into my father.
"Why the fuck don't you mind your own fucking business. You have no fucking idea what the fuck was going on." I then added the little addendum, "Asshole!". At that point the kid got out and did the little tough guy shuffle, and we exchanged a few more pithy comments.

I blame John Quiñones, and his television show, 'What Would You Do?' for this behavior. If you've never seen that show, John Quiñones sets up some bizarre scenario where someone is doing something outrageous that never in a million years would the average person run into. He does this with a hidden camera, and then sits back to see how people would react to it. Many people ignore the situation, or maybe notice it, talk to each other about it, and then ignore it. In other words, they mind their own damn business. Sometimes  though, somebody will get involved. This behavior is considered to be good, and all the folks who ignored the situation are shamed. That of course is stupid. Remember, if that guy doesn't mind bullying his girlfriend he certainly isn't going to care if your nose gets bloodied by his fist.

By the way, Chandler didn't like the punky guy, and convinced him to get back into the truck.

Inspector Gadget

Everybody has a junk drawer in the kitchen. We have two. Besides the junk drawers, Mark also has a large gadget drawer full of, well, gadgets. Weird, and familiar things solely for preparing, cooking, and serving food.

Last week I cleaned out his pots and pans drawer, arranging everything in there so that he can get to it without digging in it as if he were mining diamonds. When I was done it looked great. That of course will last for maybe two weeks. This past weekend I did the same for the gadget drawer. I pulled everything out of there, and piled it all on the counters. I then went through the pile, tossing out things that were obviously junk, and duplicates. For instance he had twenty cork screws in that drawer. If we were ever taken over by the French, Mark would be ready. He had five can openers, numerous orphan knives, and a lot of gadgets missing the parts that made them worth keeping. In that drawer were also some things that I have never seen before. I had to enlist Mark's help in determining what to keep, and what to toss out. Below are five things that Mark told me to keep. I challenge all of you to identify them. Yes, that's right, it's a contest. Identify the five items pictured correctly, and you will win the sixth item. A strange silver spoon that I was going to throw into the garbage. That is until I thought of this. It does say Sterling Silver on it, and it is old. It is, however kind of beat up. So if you would like to have a genuine piece of crap that Mark had squirreled away in that drawer, name the gadgets. Oh, and no anonymous entries. That wouldn't make sense now would it?

(1)

(2)

(3)

(4)

(5)

The Prize

Photo Friday

Video Thursday

It's really hard to get Mark in one of my videos

Tuesday's With Mark

Something happened to Mark yesterday. For some years now Mark has been chauffeuring me around because of my bad eyesight. It's been a harrowing few years. He almost killed us on the interstate in Atlanta, slowing down to thirty five mph because he said he couldn't drive at the seventy mph speed limit while I screamed in horror. In Chicago he got lost, and ended up in the middle of the most notorious housing project in the city. He goes slow when he should speed up, and speeds up when... well he never speeds up.

Yesterday I had things to do. I needed a haircut, a new pair of shoes, and I needed to visit Home Depot. For all this I also needed my chauffeur, Mark. The drive to the barber was fine, no drama there. It was on the way to the shoe store in Miami that something happened. Mark learned how to drive. Honestly, it was the first time I have ever ridden with Mark and not had to scream in terror, or close my eyes. He merged onto the interstate, got over into the fast lane, and sailed on down to Miami at seventy miles per hour. The only difference between this trip and previous trips is the fact that some asshole had cut him off just before entering the expressway. The whole way Mark cursed and screamed at the errant driver. True only I, and a few dogs with acute hearing could actually hear him, but it seemed to distract him from his fear of driving. We got to the shopping center in no time, and for once I didn't feel compelled to give him handy driving hints.

Later this summer we are driving to Chicago again. I've been a bit leery about that, but we did it last year and survived. I think if I can get Mark pissed off at another driver just before we leave, it'll actually turn out just fine. I just need that other driver to be going all the way to Chicago.

Clench That Sphincter

When I was a kid, I loved the Forth of July. Firecrackers were still legal back then, and for some reason my mom and dad didn't seem to be worried that five year old Alan and his older brother and sister were blowing off lady fingers in the driveway. I guess it was a matter of degrees. Down the street the kids had cherry bombs, and the small stuff we had seemed tame.

At the age of sixty one, I couldn't give a rat's ass for fireworks. Not the big stuff that the city blows off, nor the crap that my moronic neighbors are shooting into the sky, and allowing to land on my roof. Probably I've come to dislike fireworks because of my dogs. Molly was a basket case, who would shiver in fear for hours while hiding under the table. Sasha is afraid of them, but not as bad. She just clings to me like Velcro. Little Sasha hasn't gone out for a pee, or poo since one o'clock this afternoon, and now at eleven in the evening I'm afraid she may burst. Chandler is the brave one. Every time a loud firecracker explodes the fur on his back raises, and he lets out a deep, loud bark. It's like he's saying, "Who the hell is that out there?". I just came back from walking him, and he seemed unperturbed by all the racket outside. That was until the rabble down the street lit some very noisy, and sparkly rockets. With a yank on the leash, Chandler started pulling to go back. I gave him his way, and we went directly home. Now I have two dogs in the house with full bladders, and sphincters clenched tight. I only hope they can hold it until the rockets red glare, and the bombs bursting in air stop.

Photo Friday

Chandler had a rough day