[Note: Tim Jones is on vacation (pause for applause and sighs of relief). Standing in is his cat Buddy, who would like to share an important political announcement. – Staff at VFTB]
Greetings, my fellow Americans. I am Buddy. Just Buddy. No last name, as far as I know. That’s me to the right. In case you think I look familiar, it might be because I bear a striking resemblance to another kitty, my uncle Blackie, who, you may recall, composed a very important message in this blog a few years ago. (What can I say, my human, Tim Jones, really sucks at naming cats.)
Ever since Donald Trump was elected president, my human has been pacing around his man cave, going on rants, like “How could such an inept buffoon be President?” and “The man is totally unfit for the office!” Now that I look at Trump, he does look terribly out of shape. He really should stop wearing those tight tennis shorts, if you ask me.He apparently has aspirations to become a bird, as he tweets all the time. I have no idea what he’s writing – but then, neither does he. I guess we are both illiterate.
Watching Tim scream at the TV each night as he watches Rachel Maddow or Lawrence O’Donnell describe the latest Trump abomination, it’s become as plain as the whiskers on my face that I could do a better job running this country. So, that is why today, I am announcing my plans to run for president. I realize some may view me as unfit as Trump, so I have hired a personal trainer to help me shed the kitty fat and get in shape.
You may be asking yourself, “Why should I vote for a cat?” After all, there’s never been a cat that sat in the Oval Office – unless you count President Clinton’s cat Socks. But I’m fairly sure Socks had limited veto power. So, why me? Where do I begin?
First, the only skeleton you’ll find in my closet is from a mouse I killed and left as a gift for my human. (He still hasn’t thanked me, by the way.) Full disclosure: Like Trump, I too have an embarrassing episode involving peeing on a bed. In my defense, I was only a kitten and not fully litter-trained.
Unlike Trump, I have never said an unkind word about Mexicans and never will – unless they take my spot on the couch. Then they’re dead to me. I will never give any foreign leader a reason to get angry with me or brush me off – unless they’re easily upset by cat fur on their Armani jacket. My breed tends to shed a lot.(more…)
I’m 63. By the time most men reach this milestone, they have more than a touch of gray, like me. Some men have gone completely white on top. And in the case of my older brother, there is scant evidence he ever had hair.
But then I noticed at my yoga class that the women didn’t seem to have this problem. Their ages range from 50 to 75. And yet, not one of them has a single gray hair. The obvious takeaway is that women have a much easier life than men.
Then it struck me like a thunderbolt – their youthful-looking hair was a dye job. I know this to be so because I conducted a survey of the class – and now none of them will speak to me.
That gave me an idea – perhaps I could look younger too if I colored my hair. What’s the worst that could happen? So, I did it. I would like to pass along to other men just how simple the procedure is. The whole experience will take years off your life, I mean, off your appearance.
Below is the exact step-by-step method I followed. You might want to take notes.
Step 1: Get out of your comfort zone and do something daring. Realize that your past efforts to “pray away the gray” have been futile. Take the plunge and decide to dye your hair.
Step 2: Choose your desired hair color. Be bold. If you’re thinking purple or green, stop! I said be bold, not be a circus clown.
Step 3: Go to the pharmacy and decide which brand you most identify with: Just for Men, Manly Guy, or Natural Instincts. Look at the photos on the packaging. Choose the one whose picture most closely matches your vague recollection of your former self – the HAIR color, not the ruggedly handsome face on the box.
Step 4: Accidentally purchase a color two shades darker than your natural tint. Fail to notice this until it’s too late.
Step 5: Apply the dye. Get distracted by a radio broadcast about a seven-year-old in Nebraska with the world’s largest bunny rabbit and inadvertently leave the goop on your scalp for nine minutes instead of the recommended maximum five.(more…)
[Note by Tim Jones: This week’s column was written by Lawrence Douglas and Alexander George.]
You can just imagine the tweets, denials and equivocating that would follow a murder committed by Trump on Fifth Avenue, can’t you?
The New York Times:
Breaking news: in an eerie echo of Donald Trump’s infamous campaign trail remark – “I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody and I wouldn’t lose voters” – many witnesses report, and CCTV footage obtained by the Times confirms, that early this morning the president drew a handgun on his former lawyer Michael Cohen and shot him dead on a street in midtown Manhattan.
House speaker Paul Ryan:
“If these reports are true – I emphasize IF – then yes, I’m very concerned. I don’t think the president should be killing people in broad daylight in front of Tiffany’s. But I’m not a legal expert, I could be wrong.”
White House press secretary Sarah Sanders:
Associated Press: “Ms. Sanders, did the president shoot his former lawyer in an effort to stop him from testifying against the president?”
Sarah Sanders: “No, he did not.”
AP: “Are you saying that the shooting was not motivated by Mr. Cohen’s recent plea deal, or rather that the president did not shoot him?”
SHS: “You’ve got my answer, Jim. No, no, no.”
AP: “Ms. Sanders, I’m still not clear what –”
SHS: “The answer is no. No as in no. N. O. It’s these kinds of questions that have turned the American people against the press.” (more…)
Throughout my life, I’ve held a variety of jobs – from Sales Director to Director of Sales and everything in between. Given the chance, I could have been a superstar selling advertising, life insurance or legal research to anyone from astronauts to Aborigines, had my employers not fired me for poor performance and incompetence. So, you can imagine my excitement when I recently heard about an opening that sounded right up my alley: Working the BINGO booth at our local county fair.
When word got to me that a local non-profit needed help with the fair’s BINGO operations, I knew I was the perfect candidate. When the BINGO Boss man called, I was totally prepared. I had updated my resume to reflect relevant skills that made me uniquely qualified for this challenge – most notably that I was adept – even under pressure – at differentiating most letters from numbers.
I was surprised at how few questions the recruiter posed during the interview. His opening pitch was, “Are you willing to work the BINGO booth at the fair this weekend?” From the get-go, I picked up on serious buying signals. Not to appear immodest, but I am a tenacious negotiator. I asked him what the base salary was. He said there was no salary. I interpreted that to mean it was commission-only. No problem, I thought. That just means the sky’s the limit.
I asked about stock options, how the health insurance plan worked, whether the job came with a matching 401K and when I’d be eligible for my four weeks of vacation. In the end, we reached what I feel was a fair compromise: No salary, vacation, stock options or health coverage. But I wrangled free entrance to the entire fairgrounds – including behind-the-scenes access to the rabbits exhibit and the tractor pull competition. (more…)
Lately, whenever someone invites me to go hiking, my response is usually: “You can take a hike.” That’s because, I really don’t care for hiking.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not lazy. Okay, maybe that’s a lie. But I used to take long walking excursions all the time. It’s one of my wife’s favorite leisure activities – so much so that she snuck it into our wedding vows: “I promise to love, honor and cherish you – and take annoyingly long, arduous hikes into mosquito-infested woods in the middle of nowhere – so long as we both shall live.” I probably should have read over our vows a bit more carefully, but young love makes you say yes to the craziest things.
I’ve endured tons of treks over my lifetime. I’ve scaled summits of the Rocky Mountains (well, the summit of the visitors’ information stations, at least). I’ve toured all over Europe for two months, with nothing more than a backpack and my sister (to carry my backpack). I’ve run several 10K races and even completed a marathon – that’s 26 miles – and at the end, all I got was a t-shirt. So, don’t tell me I’ve not put in my share of hard miles on foot.
But hiking is not that much fun for me anymore, in part because I have osteoarthritis in both knees – which, personally, I blame on my wife, for making me join her on so many walkabouts over the past 35 years.
I don’t get the appeal of the activity. Hear me out. You want me to walk for hours, usually in the middle of a forest, so the view is totally obscured by trees and boulders and nature. Then, to make matters worse, after reaching my destination five miles later, there’s never a Starbucks. I’m stuck in no man’s land with no cell phone reception, so I have no idea what the game score is. I’m utterly exhausted and my knees are throbbing. But wait! We’re not done with the fun yet. My ordeal is only half over, because to get back to civilization, I have to cover the exact same route in reverse. I guess if you’re a masochist, I totally get the appeal.
[Note: Tim Jones is on vacation (pause for applause and sighs of relief). Standing in is his cat Buddy, who would like to share an important political announcement. – Staff at VFTB]
