 Sometimes, you run across a story that’s just too uplifting not to share it. Especially considering the mounds and mounds of serious problems in the world like ISIS and Ebola. Therefore, I wanted to push this one up to the top and share it with you. It spills over with tips from an expert who really knows how to get things off her chest. Cross-my-heart you’ll find it informative if not somewhat rhetorical. So strap yourself in and get ready to be perked up by the lady whom Oprah deemed;
The Bra Whisperer! THAT’s RIGHT...this lady evidently is the premier expert on bras. In this USA Today article entitled; “Bra Fitting Entrepreneur Has Tips For The Ladies”, Susan Nethero solves the mystery of titties by answering the difficult questions like:
Personally, I think songwriter Wynn Varble offers up more insight in his song “Bird Dog Bra”, where he explains in the chorus; It was a Bird-Dog Bra - should have known it when I met her A Bird-Dog Bra - had to pull herself together What’s A Bird-Dog Bra? - you see it’s really kind of clever…. A Bird-Dog Bra makes pointers out of setters. Okay, I’ve milked this one enough. Curmudgeon Out! (reminder to the ladies) October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Go get your yearly mammograms!
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 In case you missed this story about the woman getting stuck in the chimney in California and don’t have time to read the whole thing, I thought I’d sum it up for you with a familiar tune we all know.
Up on the housetop cougar claws Desperate woman pre-menopause Down through the chimney she tries to slide Stuck in the mid-dle - ass too wide (she’s a) Ho Ho Ho - how could he not know Ho Ho Ho - he tried to let her go Up on the housetop - click, click click Dawn de-ter-gent - slick, slick, slick You can’t make this crap up...CLICK HERE FOR THE WHOLE STORY Curmudgeon Out! "Things are not as bad as they seem...they're worse!" - Bill Press If you’ve been reading my blog for any length of time, you know that I love my coffee. Two cups in the morning, in the dark, in peaceful solitude.
A Guilty Pleasure of mine, (that “wife” may not even know about), is popping into the neighborhood Starbucks for a final cup for my drive into work. While I don’t stop by every morning, it’s probably three times a week that I indulge myself with one more bold "cup-a-joe" for my morning commute with the crazies on the interstate. Now I like Starbucks’ coffee, and I like the young people that staff this particular establishment. However, after yesterday, they’re going to have to scratch me off of their customer list. You see, for the past 3-4 weeks, there has been a squatter that has apparently set up permanent residence in the corner by the beverage station and staked his claim on the two leather chairs and table. I can’t see him when I first walk in, but after I pick up my order and step around the corner to sweeten my grande Komodo Dragon...BAM, I’m slapped in the face by Crotchet Man! For weeks now, Crotchet Man has been there everyday in that same corner, right leg draped over the arm of that poor, molested chair...left leg gapped open the other way...leaned back as if he’s ready to fire an arrow out of his butt to fend off any intruders to the territory which he has seized by his unabashed crotchdom. Add to it that he wears shorts everyday and it’s just flat out disturbing. He’s obviously more social than I am though because he has people there with him every morning who seem engaged in either the conversation or crotch-watching. Personally, I don’t see how anyone could sit there with any seriousness while this man appears ready to pass a basketball...or worse! Maybe he’s chafed and needs some Goldbond. Or maybe he’s just an inconsiderate, oblivious, narcissistic individual that thinks his crotch don’t stink. Whatever the reason, the unfortunate ending to this story is that my guilty pleasure has been snuffed out by a crotch. So drivers beware! Take note that you’ll be rolling alongside a man that’s one step short of crazy himself! And now, (thanks to Crotchet Man), I’ll also be one cup short of the patience and courtesy I normally extend to you idiots on the road. How do I like my coffee?...you may ask. I prefer mine Crotchless...with a little cream & sugar. Curmudgeon Out! "Things are not as bad as they seem...they are worse!" - Bill Press
Dear Loyal Readers,
It is with sadness that, (effective immediately), I must tender my resignation from being President of the Curmudgeonhood Of America (C.O.A.). I arrived at this conclusion due to an experience that happened over the weekend which convicted me to downgrade my rating to a “C-2” status and surrender my self-appointed title. You see, this past Saturday (along with 2 of my best friends), we had the privilege to be in the presence of greatness. His name was Gary - a complete stranger (assigned to join the 3 of us by the club), but more importantly, a Master Curmudgeon….a true “C-1”. I was humbled by the crabby, crustiness of his demeanor, his complete obliviousness to our repeated attempts to engage him into conversation, his supernatural gift of projecting a black-hole vortex capable of sucking-in the beauty, peace and joy that stems from being on the golf course with good friends. Gary's body language oozed impatience and sourpuss. He didn’t smile, nor did he talk...(except to shout a profanity-laced tirade at the unsuspecting foursome ahead of us, because he felt they took too long to finish putting on the 5th green). Gary's ability to maintain such a constipated, crosspatch disposition on such a beautiful Autumn Saturday was so impressive that it's convicted me to temporarily surrender my title of “President”. Unfortunately, it was a pretty chilly morning and Gary forgot to bring a jacket. Between holes he wrapped up in a dirty beach towel (same one he was cleaning his irons off with in-between shots), to try and block the wind. I guess even a C-1 curmudgeon can underestimate their own thickened and cynical outer-layer’s ability to negate a stiff northern breeze. So at the start of the 6th hole, Gary did something that surprised us all...he spoke; “It’s too damn cold for me to finish...I’m going home”...and just like that, he was gone. Those few words were magical; however, because as he was carting away (beach towel draped around his shoulders flapping like a super-curmudgeon’s cape), the sun shined brighter, the wind died down, and the birds and squirrels starting chirping again and gathering nuts for the winter. I didn’t get your last name Gary, (only because you wouldn’t tell me), but thank-you! You’ve shown me that I have a long way to go to get to your C-1 level of Curmudgeonry. I bow to the master and yield my title to you. C-2 Out! "Things are not as bad as they seem...they are worse!" - Bill Press Another restless night of interrupted sleep patterns and random thoughts that wiz past my brain at warp speed . Big Sis (a retired nurse), says there is a medical term for this condition called "Flight of Ideas". It's quite entertaining really. One moment I'm thinking about a family member or an issue at work and then…BAM, I'm seeing baboons eating Blue Bell out of a PF Flyer shoebox. Go figure. Well, last night I was able to stop the flight and focus for a few minutes due to another commercial with one of those ridiculous medicine names. This one is called Farxiga…a new drug for the treatment of Type 2 diabetes. Great, (I thought), America probably needs this. But it also made me ponder; Who in the name of Marcus Welby is in charge of naming these drugs? Farxiga? It sounds more like a treatment for leaky individuals. "Since I've been taking Farxiga, I no longer get those accusatory looks in the elevator. My life literally used to stink, but not anymore thanks to Farxiga! It's changed my life…along with my co-workers". Anyway, it prompted me to jot down a few of my own new drug ideas to pitch to Merck and Phizer to develop;
Dr. Curmudgeon, MD - Out!
"Things are not as bad as they seem...they are worse!" - Bill Press  They call me Curmudgeon
Crosspatch I am he I rant about the things in life That really shouldn’t be Some deem me pessimistic A miscalculated view Consider me a realist Who seeks to tell the truth. Crusty observation Is the service that I serve And here’s a lengthy, loathsome list Of things that grate my nerves. The drive-thru at a Starbucks The mall on Friday night Food buffets and cruise ships Large crowds I wanna fight Tanning beds and speedos Orange barrels on the road Skinny jeans, sear sucker suits Wheat grass with horny goat Despise the rush-hour traffic And penny loafers too Living in Los Angeles Is something I won’t do I’ll never get a mani-pedi Or anything tattooed Ask a woman’s age or weight Or when the baby’s due Won’t wax my back or ballroom dance Comb-over thinning hair Float my teeth in Efferdent Or piercing anywhere Yeah, they call me Curmudgeon A moniker that fits I call them like I see them A curse that I can’t quit. Curmudgeon Out! "Things are not as bad as they seem...they are worse!" - Bill Press Well here’s something that just made my Frosted Flakes soggy! The CW Network (CBS/WarnerBros) just dropped the proverbial anvil on Wylie Coyote by pulling the plug on running Saturday morning cartoons! The CW was the last man standing, but finally had to succumb to the fact that things just “ain’t like they used to be”. I remember vividly how I looked forward to Saturday mornings as a young child. Pajamas, a bowl of Cocoa Puffs (Jethro-sized), getting into fights with my sister over whether we were going to watch Underdog (my personal favorite), or the Jetsons...which came on at the same time on different channels...of which there were two. We would sit there for a few hours, lost in a blissful world of animated adventure. But come mid-day, Mama & Daddy would kick us out of the house to go play in the yard. Looking back, that was really the only TV we watched all week. Saturday mornings were anticipated and had a “feel” about them that made them special. Those days are gone forever. Children today, and we as adults, are an on-demand society. We have the technology and ability to get what we want, when we want it. Sadly, that on-demand wherewithal and access has a detrimental effect. It normalizes the simple, precious things in life to the point that they’re not “special” anymore. It’s a numbing and dumbing “effect” - that results in requiring something bigger and better to “affect” us. Don’t believe it? Compare the movie theaters & productions, a concert, professional sporting events of today versus 20 years ago. Obviously, it takes more and more to impress us these days, excite us...create anticipation.  So goodbye Bedrock - Fred, Wilma, Barney & Thelma Goodbye Spacely Sprockets - George, Jane, Elroy, Judy & Astro So long Sweet Polly Purebred Goodbye Scooby & Shaggy Bugs, Daffy, Yosemite Sam (CLICK HERE FOR YT CLIP) Tom & Jerry Foghorn Leghorn Roadrunner & Wylie Coyote Popeye, Olive Oil, Brutus & Wimpy And last but certainly not least….Porky Ba Ba Deeb...Ba Ba Deeb...that’s all folks! Curmudgeon Out!
"Things are not as bad as they seem...they are worse!"...Bill Press |
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November 2017
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