Kick My Damn Ass

A guy like me who lives in an Oldster Folks' Home needs all the help he can get. So I am appreciative of a missive I got from my buddy Lois Lane, who is at Home Fires in my links at left. She's a pistol. Lois was commenting to me on an old crone in my Home that I had to take out with a crossbow (from behind a fern, 20 paces) for being annoying. Lois wrote:

"The lady in your story actually reminded me of the lady who stayed down the hall from my father while he was in the hospital recently. She would call from her room, 'Help. HELP! Please, someone, help me. Anyone there? HELLLOOO? Help.'

"When the nurses checked on her she said, 'Get me the hell out of here or I'll call the police!' They kindly reminded her that she was sick and in need of medical attention. So she busted out with, 'OH HELL! I forgot again! Oh, just kick my ass. KICK MY DAMN ASS for being so stupid.'"

Out of the mouths of old babes....

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Back in the late 1930's and early 40's our country had a thing called "The March of Dimes." It was a fund-raiser to get money for the fight against poliomyelitis. The "March" basically was held on January 30, the birthday of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who was afflicted with polio. Here's what would happen, at least in my hometown of Bend, Oregon:

The mayor would put a dime down on the sidewalk, in this case in front of the local bank. Then other people would put a dime down, making a line of dimes. All day long people would come into town and add a dime. The line of dimes went down the city block, and curled back up to the bank. That's a lot of dimes (and most of them was Mercury heads, which would be worth at least 10 times as much as a dime today).

I am not telling you this boring story for nothing. The thing that was interesting is that NOBODY NEVER EVER STOLE ONE DAMN DIME out of that line of dimes. You try something like that today and the drug crazies would descend with their scoop shovels faster'n you could say Jack Sprat.

Polio has been eradicated in all but six countries. Pretty damn good investment of Ol' Hoss's dime, of which he didn't have a lot. But FDR was my hero. Still is.

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I ate in my room yesterday. It was okay until I got to the chicken, which hadn't been cooked. To spite the chef, I didn't eat it.