Men with Bladders the Size of a Walnut Should Be Banned From the Opera

My wife and I recently attended a performance of The Barber of Seville at the Kennedy Center.  This turned out to be quite a challenge for me because I have a bladder the size of a walnut.  My wife had obtained our tickets at a charity auction, and neither of us had been to the Kennedy Center, or ever attended an opera for that matter.

We arrived early, and my wife kept saying she wanted to visit something called the Russian Lounge.  I pictured a windowless, smoke-filled room where oligarchs sat around discussing who among their adversaries “needed to go” (as in, permanently).  As it turned out, I was precisely correct.  No, no.  Just kidding.  The Russian Lounge in the Kennedy Center’s opera house is where patrons hang out before performances and during intermission (or, as I refer to it, “halftime”).  Here it is –

This picture is clipped pretty hard because the last things these generous rich folks need is a cameo in my smart-alack (yet highly informative) column.  Trust me, they were all dressed to the nines, carried themselves with polished demeanor, and had an average age of 107.  Just kidding, again!  The average age couldn’t have been a day over 91.

The Russian Lounge is where I made my big mistake.  I ordered a bourbon.  Bourbon, as my wife will tell you with a pained look on her face, is my Kryptonite.  I digest bourbon as well as dogs digest chocolate.  It never ends well.

After sliding the last drop of that mistake down my throat, we headed to our seats.  We were thrilled – forth row, center.  I looked back and surveyed the massive audience of 2,700.  Here are the balconies.

I would have included the main floor, but too many people were staring at me when I lifted my camera.  They all look richer and far more sophisticated than me, so I didn’t have the nerve to include them in the photo.

The first half of The Barber of Seville is about 90 minutes.  At 35 minutes, my bladder started to percolate.  At 40 minutes, things were tightening up, and it was dawning on me that I wasn’t going to make it to intermission.  I turned to my wife and told her I had to go.  She shook her head firmly and said, “No.”  She was absolutely correct.  It wasn’t an event where people wandered in and out.  In fact, no one had.

At 45 minutes, I was waiting for a break in the action to make my move.  But Opera singers are like those whales that can take a breath and remain submerged for hours.  Just as their voices would begin to fade, and I would grip my armrests preparing to make my move, their voices would shoot back up and launch into another verse.

Finally, a song ended, and people began clapping.  It was my big chance.  I turned to my wife and said, “I’ve got to go.”

A look of horror shot across her face, and she silently mouthed, “Don’t go!”

I didn’t have the luxury of time to plead my case.  I simply gazed deep into her despondent eyes and said, “I’m sorry.” Then I turned and dashed up the aisle.

In retrospect, I blame the Kennedy Center for allowing me to attend in the first place.  This is the premier center for the arts in entire United States.  Don’t they have standards?  Even the most rudimentary background check is going to disclose that I am from Alsea.  A team of armed security guards should have been waiting for me at the entry to initiate a full pat-down, water-boarding, and, of course, bladder check.

The next time I go to the opera, I’m going to take the same precautions I do when I  fly in a single engine plane – It’s liquid deprivation for a minimum of six hours preflight (or in this case – “pre-opera”).

_______

WAIT!  You’re not done yet.  Earn good karma!  Please comment and share on Facebook, Twitter or your other favorite apps.

And Subscribe!

It’s free and easy, and each new Jocularious column will arrive in your inbox.

It’s a Three Minute Vacation for your Brain.

______________________________

Also-

Check out these great books:

The Lawyer’s Song: Navigating the legal wilderness

https://buff.ly/2K41Tax

Seven Rules for the College Playground –

https://buff.ly/2IqXxgn

Seven Secrets You Need to Know to Hire the Right Lawyer –

https://buff.ly/2roFIov

I Have Never Been Upgraded to First Class But I Have Been Upgraded to Toilet Class

There are three rules to getting upgraded to First Class:  1. Get to the gate early.  2. Dress professionally.  And 3. Own the airline.  Okay, I was just kidding about number 3.  You don’t need to own the airline.  You only need to be Chairman of the Board of the airline.

There is nothing sweeter than being upgraded to First Class.  Or, at least, this is what I’m told.  I myself personally have never been upgraded to First Class, although I have been upgrade to Toilet Class.  You might even say that I am a frequent flyer when it comes to flying Toilet Class.

There are two levels of Toilet Class.  The first is the seats directly in front of the toilets that don’t recline.  Thus, you are not able to “stretch out” and luxuriate in that extra 1½ inches of leg room.  While this is not the highest level of Toilet Class, it still allows you to enjoy having a line of people hovering over you with their legs crossed.  The second, or “Top Tier” Toilet Class (unfortunately, not all plane configurations have this) is the seat directly to the side of the toilet.  From my considerable experience, you sit to the right of the lavatory door.  Here is your view –The exception to this being your view is when someone’s butt is your view.

A bonus to the top-tier Toilet Class seat is inhaling a whiff of that chemical smell every time someone exits.

One of the most memorable flights I have ever had was returning from Hawaii a few years ago sitting on the aisle directly across from the toilet.  Now, the fact that I was sitting by the toilet is not what made this flight memorable.  In fact, that just made it another day in the life – It’s almost my assigned seat.  No, what made this trip memorable was that something was wrong with the door latch.  So each of the 1,005 times someone left the toilet and shut the door, within a moment, the door swung back open in my direction.  I literally spent five and a half hours shutting the toilet door.

My main point is this – If a First Class ticket costs four times as much as a coach ticket, shouldn’t a Toilet Class ticket cost four times less?  Trust me when I say this – The “flying experience” of someone seated mid-cabin is notably better than someone who has to shut the toilet door every five seconds.

Jack, you might ask, “What can I do to increase my chances that I will be upgraded to Toilet Class?”  Three things: 1. Arrive at the gate just as they are preparing to secure the cabin door and the gate agent is wearing that frowny face.  2. Sport a faded Hawaiian shirt and dirty cargo pants.  And 3. Be Chairman of the Board of the “I was running too late to comb my hair society.”  Trust me on this folks – The flight attendant will immediately direct you back to your specially assigned seat.

_______

WAIT!  You’re not done yet.  Earn good karma!  Please comment and share on Facebook, Twitter or your other favorite apps.

And Subscribe!

It’s free and easy, and each new Jocularious column will arrive in your inbox.

It’s a Three Minute Vacation for your Brain.

______________________________

Also-

Check out these great books:

The Lawyer’s Song: Navigating the legal wilderness

https://buff.ly/2K41Tax

Seven Rules for the College Playground –

https://buff.ly/2IqXxgn

Seven Secrets You Need to Know to Hire the Right Lawyer –

https://buff.ly/2roFIov

I Can’t Touch My Cellphone But People Can Drive Down the Freeway with Ladies’ Legs Sticking Out the Top of Their Cars?!

Oregon has a new law forbidding the use of cellphones while driving.  It’s extremely strict.  In fact, it’s so strict that even thinking about touching your phone while driving is punishable by death.  Okay, maybe not that strict, but darn close.  The first offense is a big fat fine.  The second offense is a bigger fatter fine, and the third offense (and I am not kidding) is punishable by up to six months in jail.  You read that correctly.  You can get tossed in the slammer for changing the music on your iTunes app.

Potential Future Jail House Conversation –

Meth addict with a picture of Satan tattooed on his forehead, “What’re you in for?”

Me, answering in a quivering voice and slightly peeing myself, “Tapping the Google Maps app on my phone to reroute around a traffic jam.”

Our lawmakers were so concerned about the dangers of using a cellphone while driving, that they made the law apply to everyone.  Absolutely everyone.  No exceptions.  Because, as I stated, it is so dangerous.  Oh, wait a minute.  There is ONE exception – police officers.  Yeah.  Big shocker, Oregon’s new law does NOT apply to cops.  Apparently, cops undergo a rigorous training course that teaches them specialized techniques which enable them to safely drive while chatting on the phone with their girlfriends.

So, imagine my shock when my wife and I were heading north on Interstate 5 south of Portland yesterday when I spot a car with what appeared to be a bunch of women’s legs sticking out the top.

I nearly had an accident yelling for my wife to take a picture of it, so that I could report this clear and present danger to you, the driving public.  Even though I knew I was risking bodily death backing traffic up in the fast lane behind me while my wife snapped a picture.  I felt it imperative to bring this disturbing transportational development to your attention.

When I initially spotted the legs, my first impression was that they were all women’s legs.  In retrospect, I think the bright yellow tutu on the right caught my attention.  However, my astute wife, Julie, announced that a number of the legs appeared to be MEN’S legs!  Upon further review, I think she’s right.  Here is Exhibit #1 –Now, I can understand why someone would find it beneficial to drive down the freeway with women’s legs sticking out of the top of their car, but I have to draw the line somewhere.  No one, and I mean no one, should risk a multi-car pile-up over the revulsion of seeing a bunch of gross hairy men’s legs sticking out of the top of a car.  It’s just wrong.

I’m writing a letter to my state representative, and telling her that we need to amend our new cellphone law.  We need to forbid, once and for all, allowing men’s legs to stick out the top of cars.  And the penalty should be stiff.  I suggest a mandatory minimum of six months in the slammer – PER HAIRY LEG!

_______

WAIT!  You’re not done yet.  Earn good karma!  Please comment and share on Facebook, Twitter or your other favorite apps.

And Subscribe!

It’s free and easy, and each new Jocularious column will arrive in your inbox.

It’s a Three Minute Vacation for your Brain.

______________________________

Also-

Check out these great books:

The Lawyer’s Song: Navigating the legal wilderness

https://buff.ly/2K41Tax

Seven Rules for the College Playground –

https://buff.ly/2IqXxgn

Seven Secrets You Need to Know to Hire the Right Lawyer –

https://buff.ly/2roFIov

The Secret to Keeping Your Family’s Mitts Off Your Stuff

My beautiful daughter bought me a Hydro Flask for my birthday.  I was touched by her thoughtfulness – for nearly 24 hours.  Then I realized that she had taken the saying, “When you buy a gift, buy something you’d like to have yourself,” a little too far.  It dawned on me that she had IN FACT bought herself a gift because every time I go looking for it, she has it.  (Okay, okay, I can hear her saying, “Not every time!” And yes, I am exaggerating.  It is only 97% of the time.)

At long last I have found a solution.  I’ve named it, the “Not over my dead body” solution, or NOMDB for short.

NOMDB is simple to use.  Here is an example:

I live in a Eugene, Oregon, or more officially, “The People’s Republic of Eugene.”  To put it mildly, Hillary got 105% of the vote here.  Any time there is a march or rally in Eugene, twice as many people show up than actually live in the city.  You know those pink hats that folks started wearing after the last presidential election?  The ones they refer to by that name that starts with a “P” and is a slang term for a popular part of the female anatomy?  A Eugene City Ordinance requires every household to own at least two.  I’m not saying they’d jail you if they discovered you only had one P**** Hat, but it would at least be a hefty fine.

But I digress.  The NOMDB method involves gauging the political climate in your area and then putting a sticker on the item you don’t want borrowed.  For example, it will be a cold day in H-E-double-toothpicks before my daughter borrows a Hydro Flask with an NRA sticker on it.  Or a Trump sticker.  Here is the rule when choosing your sticker: Would your loved one respond, “Not over my dead body”?  Bingo!

You’d like to try NOMDB but don’t have a sticker handy?  Order it on Amazon.  Here’s one for sale right now–You live in Dallas?  No problem.  Just put one of these in your Amazon “cart”–

If you ladies in Texas really want to keep your man’s mitts off your Hydro Flask, one of these stickers is going to do the trick.  Believe me, he’s not going to want to announce to his buddies at the shooting range that–I’m not saying the use of this technique is without risk.  Walking through downtown Eugene with an NRA or MAGA sticker could be extremely dangerous to you bodily health.  Someone with a COEXIST bumper sticker might become enraged and decide to shove it up your uncomfortable place.  But the world belongs to the bold.  “Speak your truth.”

Meanwhile, my daughter’s birthday is coming up.  I’m thinking of getting her something she’d really like.  Something soft and frilly.  Something a teenage girl has always dreamed of having.  I’m thinking of a cordless nail gun.

________________

WAIT!  You’re not done yet.  Earn good karma!  Please comment and share on Facebook, Twitter or your other favorite apps.

And Subscribe!

It’s free and easy, and each new Jocularious column will arrive in your inbox.

It’s a Three Minute Vacation for your Brain.

______________________________

Also-

Check out these great books:

The Lawyer’s Song: Navigating the legal wilderness

https://buff.ly/2K41Tax

Seven Rules for the College Playground –

https://buff.ly/2IqXxgn

Seven Secrets You Need to Know to Hire the Right Lawyer –

https://buff.ly/2roFIov

Unless You’re Describing a Full-Bodied Coffee, Please, Please Stop Using the Word Robust

Attention “General Public”:  I’m not asking, I’m begging.  Unless you are describing a rich, full-bodied South American coffee, please, please, P-L-E-A-S-E, stop using the word robust every five seconds.  Cease and desist, people.  It’s getting brutal.

Let’s stop for a moment and do some research.  The Oxford English Dictionary formally defines the word “Robust” as follows:

“ADJECTIVE –

  1. A descriptive word used by blowhards on both ends of the political spectrum trying to sound smarter than they are. (i.e. “The new tax cuts are likely to make our country’s economy, as well as the size of my posterior, considerably more robust.”)
  2. (Esp. British) A descriptive word used by blowhards in the middle of the political spectrum too. (i.e. “Hey, I might not be an extremist, but my posterior is also robust, just more moderately so.”)

If you question my complaint about how insane the use of this word has become, consider playing–

 “The Robust Drinking Game”

Step 1. Turn on a talking head show (MSNBC, Fox News – it doesn’t matter) (Just make sure it’s one where the host sits there with a robust, self-satisfied look on his face).

Step 2. Take a shot of tequila every time someone who couldn’t change his own tire if you offered him a million bucks uses the word “robust.”

Step 3. After the bottle is empty, every player must describe the taste of the tequila in a single sentence, but it must include the word “robust.”

Stupid Real Life Uses of the Word Robust –

“We have the most robust military in the world.”

“The symphony’s performance schedule this season is particularly robust.”

“The subject of this episode of My 600 Pound Life is, to put it mildly, one very robust fellow.”

If you happen to be the 1 in 100,000 people who haven’t noticed the recent upsurge in the use of this word, keep your ears open this week.  You’ll begin to notice it popping up more frequently than groundhogs in a Nebraska corn field.

Next week’s rant: The word “profound” doesn’t make you sound smart either.

Now that my rage over the abuse of the word robust has momentarily subsided, I’m taking a coffee break.  I am going to go enjoy a rich, full-bodied South American blend.  It’s a wonderful coffee, and I highly recommend it.  I’d like to describe it to you, but for the life of me, I can’t think of the right word.

 

 

WAIT!  You’re not done yet.  Earn good karma!  Please comment and share on Facebook, Twitter or your other favorite apps.

And Subscribe!

It’s free and easy, and each new Jocularious column will arrive in your inbox.

It’s a Three Minute Vacation for your Brain.

______________________________

Also-

Check out these great books:

The Lawyer’s Song: Navigating the legal wilderness at –

https://buff.ly/2K41Tax

Seven Rules for the College Playground –

https://buff.ly/2IqXxgn

Seven Secrets You Need to Know to Hire the Right Lawyer –

https://buff.ly/2roFIov

 

Six Bipartisan Tips for Winning a Presidential Election

The 2020 presidential election is going to make 2016 look like a 1950’s sock hop.  The debate committee is already searching for a venue to hold a mud wrestling match.  Michael Buffer, of “Let’s get ready to rumble!” fame, has agreed to announce it.  Crazy Jesse Ventura will referee.

Of course, this is only after the primaries.  It will be the Democrats’ turn to field a modest group of 40 or 50 hopefuls.  That’s right.  It’s going to be a tidal wave of egos.  A tsunami of self-entitlement.  One lady in Ohio says her cat is running.  “It’s a swing state,” she (the lady, not the cat) recently told a reporter.  “That’ll give Beatrice a sizeable advantage.  Plus, she’s got one of those flat faces.  People love that.  That’ll make her memorable.”

In the end, it will come down to two people, both clinically insane enough to run for president, “squaring off” toe to toe.  The least I can do is provide a few bipartisan pointers –

  1. Empathy is critical. Show voters that you honor the military.  Those who have fought, endured great hardship and even died.  However, and this is important, draw a hard line on one point.  Use this phrase, “I like people who weren’t captured.”
  2. “Speak your truth.” Voters like politicians who are honest and don’t hold back their real opinions.  Don’t be afraid to describe a large portion of the electorate in memorable terms.  Use a term that will resonate with voters throughout the campaign.  Consider using this term – “deplorable.”  That’ll warm their hearts.
  3. Use your nationally televised debate time carefully. You won’t have time to explain each of your policies.  So, begin with the issue that the public is most concerned about – the size of your [insert word for famous male body part].  Hold your hands out like you’re describing the last fish you caught.
  4. Pay strict attention to your demeanor. Voters want to feel a connection, a sincerity, a warmth.  One technique to achieve this is to scream your speeches.  And this is extremely important, NEVER smile.  Put on your angry face.  (Think: “crabby.”)
  5. Pepper your campaign speeches with references to family values. Voters eat that stuff up.  And this is critical – adamantly deny that you sleep with that porn star that you slept with.
  6. Demonstrate you have the strength, energy and stamina to take on the demanding job of president. Do this, for example, by collapsing in front of the media as you’re walking to your vehicle.  Don’t hold back – go for it.  Drop like a sack of potatoes.

Bonus advice – Listen to the media.  The networks will use their resources to provide you day by day polling to let you know where you stand with the voters.  And if they tell you that you’re way ahead, that there’s no way your opponent can overtake you, relax.  Take a few days off the campaign trail.  Remember, these are trained, objective professionals.  They are the backbone of our democracy.  You can rely on their reporting.

Meanwhile, I have a problem.  I’m a cheapskate, and I don’t like to pay those exorbitant sports arena snack prices.  I’m still deciding how I’m going to sneak my Walmart snacks into the mud wrestling match.

_______

WAIT!  You’re not done yet.  Earn good karma!  Please comment and share on Facebook, Twitter or your other favorite apps.

And Subscribe!

It’s free and easy, and each new Jocularious column will arrive in your inbox.

It’s a “Three Minute Vacation for your Brain.”

Also-

Check out these great books:

The Lawyer’s Song: Navigating the legal wilderness

https://buff.ly/2K41Tax

Seven Rules for the College Playground –

https://buff.ly/2IqXxgn

Seven Secrets You Need to Know to Hire the Right Lawyer –

https://buff.ly/2roFIov

 

I Refuse to Pay More Than 10 Cents Per Poop

My daughter left on a vacation recently and asked me to spend two weeks picking up poop around my neighborhood.  No, she didn’t put it quite that way.  She said, “Will you take care of my spoiled dog, Milo?”  (I added the word ‘spoiled’ for accuracy.)  Now that Milo’s visit has passed, I ordered a t-shirt that says, “I Spent Two Weeks with Milo the Spoiled Dog, and I Survived!”

Dogs provide countless intangible benefits.  Three that I particularly enjoyed were:

  1. Being routinely woken up at 3 a.m. by a high pierced whining outside my bedroom door.
  2. Discovering that Milo had transformed one of my favorite sandals into a chew toy. (On the bright side, they only cost $115.)

And my favorite –

  1. Going to pick Milo up from the groomer and being told it would be “no charge.” Because he was such a wonderful dog, you ask? No. Because after I left, he kept trying to bite the groomer.  So they locked him up until I could collect him.

His visit allowed me to learn more about my neighborhood.  One thing I learned was that someone VERY grumpy lives down the street.  This is a sign the neighbor tacked to a tree outside the house –

I was surprised it said “pee” instead of “poop.”  While I am not a certified arborist, I do know my way around a hemlock.  And I can’t imagine why this person gives a rat’s rear end whether dogs pee on this tree.  However, I want to emphasize that although Milo is a whiner, and as we have previously established, a biter, I must defend him on one point.  He has never peed on this tree.  Half a million others, but not this one.

The day after I discovered this sign, I posted a sign below it that said, “My dog didn’t pee on your tree, BUT I DID!  (And I just ate a plate of asparagus.)  You’re welcome.  THX.”

Okay, I didn’t tack that sign beneath the first one.  I tacked it above the first one.

I walked Milo three times a day, and while I don’t want to be too graphic, he pooped one to three times per walk.  My daughter had left a couple of rolls of poop bags, but they ran out within a few days.  Maybe I was feeding him too much.  Milo was certainly operating at full capacity.  So after I dropped Milo off at the groomer so he could terrorize the staff, I went to the poop bag section to stock up.  Here it is –

When I saw it, I thought, “Hello, Sally!”  I had NO idea!  A whole new world of poop bags lay before me as far as the eye could see –  Scented, Unscented, 50% thicker, 2X thicker, and for the environmentally conscious, Biodegradable.  Spread before me in all the colors of the rainbow.  I ultimately chose the ones that had little pictures of poop printed all over them.  It just felt right.  Here they are –

At $12.49 for 120 bags, that’s about ten cents a poop.  For a guy from Alsea who never dreamed I would someday be a dog’s personal poop valet, ten cents wasn’t the outer limit –  it was the Twilight Zone.

All said, I already miss Milo and look forward to his next visit.  But mostly, I look forward to the arrival of my new t-shirt.

 

_______

WAIT!  You’re not done yet.  Earn good karma!  Please comment and share on Facebook, Twitter or your other favorite apps.

And Subscribe!

It’s free and easy, and each new Jocularious column will arrive in your inbox.

It’s a Three Minute Vacation for your Brain.

______________________________

Also-

Check out these great books:

The Lawyer’s Song: Navigating the legal wilderness

https://buff.ly/2K41Tax

Seven Rules for the College Playground –

https://buff.ly/2IqXxgn

Seven Secrets You Need to Know to Hire the Right Lawyer –

https://buff.ly/2roFIov

 

How You Can Use The New Costco Sample Diet Program to Save Money and Lose Weight

When you think of a healthy diet, you think of the same store I do – the health-conscious, grocery boutique called Costco.  Nothing says “I’m living a heathy lifestyle” like buying a ham as big as your head. (I have a really large head.)

I was in Costco today buying that ham, when it dawned on me that we might be missing a serious dieting opportunity.  There I was, standing in a crowd of eager samplers waiting on the sample lady to dole out another tray of salted crackers.  You heard me right – We were waiting for crackers!  Then I looked around at the people pathetically waiting to snap one up.  This is when it dawned on me.  I was one of them.  I was one of the pathetic masses waiting there like a dope for my free cracker.

This was my eureka moment.  Sure, Nikolaus Copernicus discovered the Earth’s rotation.  Sure, Alexander Fleming discovered penicillin.  But now, I had made a discovery – The Costco Sample Diet!

I explained my idea to the sample lady, and asked her if I could take a picture of her sample stand.  She looked confused and then dove for cover the moment I lifted my camera phone.  (Side note: Is it me, or should Costco be hiring more extroverts to hand out samples?)  She either wasn’t enthusiastic about my idea, or is currently participating in the Federal Witness Protection Program.  I explained to her that I only have three readers and one lives in Busan, South Korea (Hi, Chris!).  But she still wouldn’t pose for a picture.

Here is her sample stand (she’s standing right behind it, but keeping a tight eye on the direction of my lens) –

Two of the many benefits of the Costco Sample Diet are

  1. The plan is completely FREE.
  2. The food is completely FREE.

(These factors alone make it far more attractive than Weight Watchers or Jenny Craig.)

The Costco Sample Diet has six rules –

Rule One: The only food you can eat each day is one of the samples from each Costco sample stand.

Rule Two: Returning for a second sample from the same stand is strictly forbidden.

Rule Three: Elbowing out the “stocky” kid to grab the largest sample is permitted (even encouraged).

Rule Four: You remain on the plan until you have reached your goal weight, or you have fainted.

Rule Five: If you faint, you may enjoy ONE $1.50 Costco Hotdog.  If you hit your head when you fainted, you may upgrade to a Chicken Bake.

Important Warning: DO NOT look at the other items at the food counter.  It is far too dangerous –

Important Follow-up Warning: The Twisted Churros are STRICTLY forbidden – Don’t even think about it!

Rule Six:  Repeat step 1-5 until you are satisfied with the results, or you are hospitalized, whichever occurs first.

I have to admit that I am still a little nervous about taking the plunge and conducting a full “beta test” of this diet.  I think I’ll ponder its nuances and whether the rules need tweaking while I start scarfing down that ham.

_______

WAIT!  You’re not done yet.  Earn good karma!  Please comment and share on Facebook, Twitter or your other favorite apps.

And Subscribe!

It’s free and easy, and each new Jocularious column will arrive in your inbox.

It’s a Three Minute Vacation for your Brain.

______________________________

Also-

Check out these great books:

The Lawyer’s Song: Navigating the legal wilderness at –

https://buff.ly/2K41Tax

Seven Rules for the College Playground –

https://buff.ly/2IqXxgn

Seven Secrets You Need to Know to Hire the Right Lawyer –

https://buff.ly/2roFIov

 

It’s High Time to Ban Old People from Silver Falls State Park

My family was busted for the crime of walking our dog.  We were at Silver Falls State Park in Oregon.  We hadn’t got 50 feet down the trail before the ranger was on us like stink on a monkey.  We vehemently claimed our innocence; however, the ranger grilled us about a sign we had walked past and a notice in the park flyer, which I unfortunately, at the very time of her accusation, was holding open in my hand.  If the ranger made her case to a jury, they’d convict us in 30 seconds.

Oregon is a very progressive state, and it has very progressive policies.  Except for this policy of BLATANT discrimination against friendly, law-abiding members of the Canine-American community.  The main attraction of Silver Falls State Park is a trail that loops past ten waterfalls.  A number of which you can actually walk behind.  Here is South Falls –

They’re amazing.  However, the rangers claim that old people and young children might trip over dogs along the “narrow trail.”  So they outlaw dogs.  The ranger defended the rule by telling us a kid had to be airlifted out the week before because he tripped over a dog.

Well, the solution to this problem is quite obvious – Ban old people and young kids.  Not all  the time  – I don’t want to be unreasonable.  Just ban them on  weekends.  Old people and young children can visit during the week when the crowds are smaller and thus they would be less likely to fall victim to this “dog tripping” epidemic.  I’m actually thinking of their welfare, not my own narcissistic desire to take my dog on the trail.  (He’s actually my daughter and her husband’s dog, so, technically, he’s my “grand-dog”.)

After the ranger let us off with a warning, she told us dogs were allowed on the boring Rim Trail (She didn’t actually call it “boring.”  I’m just describing it to you).  The Rim Trail runs for miles through the boring forest until you reach the North Falls (yeah, one measly waterfall – and not even one you can walk behind).  Because we had already driven 90 minutes to get there, and the ranger was standing there keeping us from going down the fun trail (obviously because she thought we would have to audacity to continue down that trail if she left – which I can assure you we absolutely would have), we marched off down the Rim Trail.

As we walked down the Rim Trail to visit the boring North Waterfall, where you can’t even walk behind it, I thought, “What were the odds that we would be so unlucky to come across that ranger?’  It turned out that the odds were 100%.  That was the ranger’s hideout.  The ranger laid in wait and sprung out like a jack-in-the-box, whenever when a dog passed.  If you’ve seen one of those nature documentaries showing one of those predatory sea creatures that camouflage themselves and spring off the sea floor to devour innocent, unsuspecting fish, that was this ranger.

I urge everyone to begin using the hashtag #BanCanineAmercianDiscrimination.  This injustice must not stand.  History must not repeat itself.  Remember, “First, they came for the ….

__________

WAIT!  You’re not done yet.  Earn good karma!  Please comment and share on Facebook, Twitter or your other favorite apps.

And Subscribe!

It’s free and easy, and each new Jocularious column will arrive in your inbox.

It’s a Three Minute Vacation for your Brain.

______________________________

Also-

Check out these great books:

The Lawyer’s Song: Navigating the legal wilderness at –

https://buff.ly/2K41Tax

Seven Rules for the College Playground –

https://buff.ly/2IqXxgn

Seven Secrets You Need to Know to Hire the Right Lawyer –

https://buff.ly/2roFIov

My Intimate Moment with the TSA (Spoiler – The agent almost made it to third base)

I have never felt so close to the TSA as I did when they required me to undergo an “enhanced” search to board a flight to, of all places, Omaha.  I’m not saying that the TSA agent did anything wrong.  But, to describe the search in high school terms, by the time he finished, he had rounded second base and was headed to third.  By the end of his search, this agent knew me – he knew me VERY well.  I hadn’t been examined this thoroughly since my last colonoscopy.

The reason for my intimate encounter was that I had just renewed my driver’s license.  I had a temporary paper license.  I presented the TSA agent with my temporary license and my old plastic license.  My old license had a hole in it where it said my date of birth.  The DMV employee punched it out when he issued me my temporary license.  The TSA guy told me that a paper license wasn’t acceptable, and my old license would have been acceptable, but since the date of birth was punched out, I couldn’t use that either. I tried to reason with the agent that the two documents together surely established my identity.  The agent completely agreed, but said he had to follow the rules.  He told me he’d call a supervisor to come talk to me.

(As an aside, you might ask, why didn’t you just take your passport with you?  There is a simple reason for that.  It’s called, “I’m an idiot.”)

After waiting for what seemed like an hour but was probably ten minutes, another TSA agent walked up to me.  I explained my story.  I then awaited his ruling.  He told me that he completely agreed with me.  He then told me that he wasn’t the supervisor.  He said he just heard what was going on and walked over to check it out.  I had become a TSA roadside attraction.

An hour later (ten more minutes), the supervisor showed up.  I was relieved that he too agreed the rule was stupid.  He then explained that he could only let me through if I would consent to “voluntarily” get “felt up.” For the record, he did not use the term “felt up.”  While accurate, that would have violated TSA policy.

Once I arrived in, of all places, Omaha.  I went online so that I could cite official line and verse to any TSA agent who dared to reject my ID on my return flight, and tell them that they darn well would accept it.  It only took a few minutes to clearly and unambiguously establish that my ID was NOT acceptable.  Great, I thought, I’m going get felt up again.

A couple of days later, I was inching my way along the TSA line with no small amount of trepidation.  I reached the TSA stand and handed the agent my faulty paper work.  Then I stood there like a sap awaiting my fate.  The agent looked at my temporary paper license.  Then he looked at my canceled plastic license with the punched out hole.  (By this time, the punched hole looked to me like it was roughly the size Australia.)  The agent then looked up at me sternly, and said in a very official tone, “Have a nice flight.”

God bless, of all places, Omaha.

________________

WAIT!  You’re not done yet.  Earn good karma!  Please comment and share on Facebook, Twitter or your other favorite apps.

And Subscribe!

It’s free and easy, and each new Jocularious column will arrive in your inbox.

It’s a Three Minute Vacation for your Brain.

______________________________

Also-

Check out these great books:

The Lawyer’s Song: Navigating the legal wilderness at –

https://buff.ly/2K41Tax

Seven Rules for the College Playground –

https://buff.ly/2IqXxgn

Seven Secrets You Need to Know to Hire the Right Lawyer –

https://buff.ly/2roFIov