Sunday, June 3, 2018

The Moose Mistake

When the Groucho's Deli waitress brought my moose sandwich to me I took one look at it and knew I had screwed up.

It was roast beef.  I haven't eaten red meat since 1980.

That's 38 years.  XXXVIII in Roman Numerals.

See?  I may be old but I still remember my Roman Numerals.

(Except L.  Is that 50 or 500?)

I looked at the menu and quickly discovered my error.

"I messed up," I announced to Dave.  "There are 2 kinds of moose sandwiches and I ordered the wrong color.  This is the Brown Moose."

So I went to the counter and told Groucho Girl about my mistake and that I should have ordered the Pink Moose.  I had my moose within minutes.

I was halfway through my Pink Moose when Dave said, "That looks like ham.  Maybe you should have ordered the White Moose."

I stopped chewing.  I didn't know whether to swallow the pink moose in my mouth or spit it on the plate.  The pink glob went down my throat like a bowling ball. 

I looked down at the plate.  OMG.  I had eaten half of a damn ham sandwich.

My stomach suddenly hurt.   And Groucho Girl was headed my way.

"Don't tell her," I whispered to Dave.

But Dave was having too much fun with my moose mess.

"She ordered the wrong moose," he told Groucho Girl.   "Again."

"I forgot my reading glasses," I said, as I slipped my reading glasses into my purse.

Dave and Groucho Girl enjoyed a laugh.  At my expense.  She offered to make me a White Moose, but I told her I was no longer hungry.

After all, I had just eaten half of a cute, little, piggy sandwich.

I hoped that I wasn't going to get ill.

And I didn't.

Big sigh.

It has been 38 years since I have eaten roast beef.

And III days since I last ate ham.  

Which looks a hell of a lot better than 3.

Wednesday, May 23, 2018

The Meeting

I have obtained a secret government document which sheds light on how those annoying Medicare Supplement plans are designed.

The following transcript, received from an anonymous source, is from a Medicare Supplement Planning meeting held sometime between 2004 and 2016 in Russia.

Please do not alert Robert Mueller.  Or the FBI.  I prefer to remain an anonymous whistleblower.

PATRICK: Let's charge the people who contributed the most into the social security system 3.2 times the average premium.

CONSTANCE:  Brilliant! 

PATRICK: We have Plans A, B, C, D, F, K, and M.  Do you think anyone will notice that we skipped a few letters?
KARL: Nah.  By the time they finish reading the plan descriptions they'll forget their ABC's.

Indeterminate laughing.

KARL: Can we go back to the blood coverage for a minute?  

CONSTANCE: What don't you get?  Plan F covers the first 3 pints.  Plans K and M cover 50% and Plan L covers 75%.

KARL: If someone in Plans K or M gets attacked by a mountain lion they could go bankrupt.  Just sayin'.

CONSTANCE: If they don't die first! 

Indeterminate laughing.

CONSTANCE: Now, we have room for one more plan.  And remember.  We're trying to maximize profits.  And how do we do that?

KARL/PATRICK: By shortening lives.

CONSTANCE: Very good.

KARL: Plan F covers skilled nursing.  How about a plan that covers unskilled nursing?

CONSTANCE: I like it!  What else should it cover.  Besides unskilled nursing?

PATRICK: How about free skydiving, bungee jumping, and flights on Southwest Airlines?

CONSTANCE: And discounts at Cracker Barrel and Pizza Hut.

KARL: Let's throw in Medical Marijuana.  Just for grins.

CONSTANCE: That could work in our favor.  Especially if they imbibe while skydiving.  We need a name.  D for (giggling) Death?

PATRICK: D's already taken.

CONSTANCE:  Okay.  K for Kill!

PATRICK: K's taken, too.

CONSTANCE: Shit!  All the good ones are gone.

KARL: H isn't taken.

CONSTANCE: Plan H For Homicide. Now we need to come up with the premium.

PATRICK: Let's keep it simple.  How about their monthly social security payment minus the square root of the sum of the digits in their social security number?

CONSTANCE: Perfect.  Great job, team.  Meeting adjourned.


Friday, April 27, 2018

The Black Olives

I suppose it was my own damn fault.

But I was worried about getting the wrong kind of olives on my pizza.  The last time I had ordered black olives, my pizza came with some kind of weird-ass nasty looking olives. 

That. Were. Not. Black. Olives.

I just wanted to be sure that I got the right kind of black olives this time.

My BFF Becca and I were at lunch at a very nice Pizza/Sandwich shop that begins with a B and ends with an S and has two L's in the middle.

We were ordering personal pizzas from the counter guy.  Let's call him "Buck".

I told Buck that I would like black olives and tomatoes on my pizza.  I then added, "Are your black olives black olives or the other kind?"

"Black olives," said Buck.  "They are black olives."

"But are they black olives?  Not the other kind of olives that I got on a pizza once?"

"They're black olives," Buck said, enunciating the word "black."  He gave me the look you would give a two year old who was asking too many questions.

I told Buck that I had a pizza once with black olives and they weren't really black olives.

Buck sighed, turned around, and proceeded to the topping area, where HE PICKED UP A HANDFUL OF BLACK OLIVES WITH HIS BARE UN-GLOVED HANDS.

He brought them back to the counter, held our his hand and said, "These are black olives."

I was stunned.

"Yeah," I said.  "Those are them.  They are certainly black olives."

I turned to Becca for help.  Becca, who never leaves home without a back-up bottle of hand sanitizer, looked completely unscathed.  Like there was nothing unusual for a pizza counter guy to hold out a handful of black olives.

In the meantime,  Buck turned around, and headed back to where he had obtained the black olives.

A guttural sound escaped from my mouth when I observed Buck dropping the black olives back into the black olive bin.  He slapped his hands together, presumably to remove any black olive juice, and returned to the counter.

I no longer wanted black olives on my pizza.

But I had just told Buck that his black olives were the black olives that I wanted.

Here's what I should have said.

"Buck, I no longer want back olives on my pizza because you just picked up a handful of black olives and I don't know where your hands have been."

But instead I gulped and said, "Okay.  I want a pizza with black olives and tomatoes."

Thankfully, Buck didn't show me the tomatoes.

When we got to our seats, and I was done throwing up in my mouth, I told Becca that I didn't know how I could possibly eat the pizza.  She reassured me that the germs would be cooked off in the oven.

I was so relieved.

And even more relieved that I had not ordered the Greek Salad.

Friday, April 13, 2018

Consulting with the Airlines

Have you noticed the latest thing in airline travel?

Basic Economy fares.

For the thriftiest of thrifty.  Like me.  

However, these lowest available fares (which aren't that low) have a few teeny tiny restrictions:

-No seat assignment until check in. (Oh boy!  A middle seat!)
-Board last. (Oh boy! Crawl over the aisle passenger!)
-No carry on luggage. (Oh boy! Pay to have it checked!)

Note that if you attempt to smuggle luggage onto the plane that won't fit under the seat, the airlines will charge you $25 to check it at the gate.  And top it off with a $25 gate handling charge.  

And force you to sit in the bathroom for the duration of the flight.  

Okay, I made that last part up.

Since the airlines are committed to nickel-and-diming passengers to death, they may be interested in adopting some of my scathingly brilliant ideas.

In fact, I have identified 3 additional pricing opportunities that will significantly increase an airline's revenue.

Nerdling Idea #1: Additional Carry-on Luggage Fees

Overhead compartment - $75
Under seat - $50
On lap - $25

And for those sneaky-ass passengers who wear their otherwise packed clothes in layers to avoid being charged, there will be a $50 penalty.  Per layer.

Of course, flight attendants will be trained to identify these deviates.

To that end, here are some snippets from my How to Identify Passengers Wearing their Luggage (PWL's) seminar.

Clue #1: Head to body ratio.  The ratio of head to body is much smaller among PWL's than other passengers.

Clue #2: Sweat.  PWL's experience excessive sweating due to their multiple layers and the fear that they will be discovered.

Clue #3: Smell.  Related to Clue #2, PWL's often smell like they are wearing multiple layers of clothing.

Nerdling Idea #2: Repriced Airline Food

Begin charging for snacks that are currently free.  Pretzels should be priced at $5.00/bag, which is approximately $1.00 per pretzel, an excellent value for the Basic Economy passengers.

Peanuts should be priced at $10/bag to help subsidize potential litigation related to peanut allergies.

Implement a $10 surcharge to passengers who bring food aboard the airplane. ($50 surcharge for food containing garlic.)

Nerdling Idea #3: Introduce Middle Seat Surcharge (MSS)

This robust recommendation is based on a sophisticated pricing model that was developed in the Nerdling Consumer Research Institute.

The MSS allows passengers to have control over their "neighbors" while trapped in enjoying a middle seat.

For passengers willing to sit between two passengers with infants, the MSS would be just $25.  Alternatively, if the passenger agreed to sit between a large passenger and one who was bringing on food, the MSS would be $30.

The most expensive MSS would be for the passenger who can afford the luxury of sitting between two Millenials (who are so focused on their devices they never move a muscle during a flight).  That fee is a hefty $250, but may be worth it for the desperate discriminating middle seat passenger.

Passengers who enjoy gambling would have an opportunity to be surprised by their Aisle/Window neighbors.  The MSS Surprise-Surprise option is just $60.

I am fully aware that by publishing this blog, I am releasing my intellectual property and, as a result, will be unable to charge the airlines for my ideas.

But that's okay.

The airlines would likely pass that cost along to the passengers.

And the next thing you know, you would have to pay to use the restroom.

You're welcome.

Saturday, March 24, 2018

The Shopping List

It's not like my Dollar Store shopping list was expansive.  I needed just two items: a poster board and a whoopee cushion.  Clearly, there was no need to write it down.

I found a parking spot right in front of the store and grabbed a basket as I stepped inside.

Then I thought, "What am I here for?"

I had no clue.

No worries.  I wandered the aisles of the store, looking for the items to jump out at me and remind me of what I was to have gotten.

I put a couple pair of 3.25 strength reading glasses in the basket, but I was relatively certain that they hadn't been on the list.  Not that they shouldn't have been.  I'd forgotten to put them on it.  

I continued roaming the aisles.  Up one aisle.  Down the next.  When I got to the detergent section I remembered that I should have put Borax on the list, but I'd forgotten.  Good thing I remembered.

Except they didn't have Borax at the Dollar Store.  I'd have to go next door to Walmart to get it.

Eventually I walked down the school supply aisle.  There was the poster board.  I picked one up, proud of myself for remembering.  I forgot that there were two items on my list and went to the register to pay for my reading glasses and poster board.

I placed the basket and the poster board on the register belt and got my credit card out to pay for the purchase.  That's when I noticed that my car keys were not in my purse.  I checked my pockets.  Not there.


I thought, "Where did I put my keys?"

The Dollar Store lady looked at me and said, "They're in the basket."

I said, "Did you read my mind or did I say that out loud?"

She said, "You asked me where you put your keys."

"Oh," I said.  I left the store holding my bag of reading glasses, the poster board, and my car keys, with my tail between my legs.  

How embarrassing.

Oh well.  It was just the Dollar Store.

I headed next door to Walmart.

After entering the store I thought, "What am I here for?"

Monday, March 12, 2018

The Box

"Mom.  I found your box."

"What box?"

"You know what box.  And it's very disturbing."

I had been Face-timing Kimmy from a cruise port to see how everything was going at home.  And she apparently found my blog box.

"What was in the box?" I asked.  I wanted to be sure we were talking about the same box.

She may have found the box containing my school pictures, which also would have been disturbing.

Or the box containing my toenails.

Just kidding.

"Where do I begin?" Kimmy replied.  "Barbie doll heads, poop play dough, mustache bandages.  Here. I'll show you."  She walked into my bedroom where the box was atop the bed, its contents overflowing.

"That's my blog box," I said.  "Don't mess it up."

Which is pretty funny considering the fact that for the past seven years I've been shoving blog props into the box.  I have to sit on it to get the top to fasten.

"I should have known," she said, removing a very expensive item.  "Is this your wine bra?"  

"Yes!  That's my Wine Rack Sports Bra.  You can use it if you clean it afterwards."  

Kimmy looked closer at the cloudy, mold-infested wine bladder that is virtually impossible to clean.  "I think I'll pass," she said, wisely.

She asked how my cruise was going and I told her about Miles, the creepy senior citizen who kept telling me how "youthful" I looked and followed me around the ship like a puppy dog.

Kimmy returned her attention to the box and removed another treasure.  "Here's a Barbie doll with no feet.  She's got band aids around her stumps."

"Oh, that's Handicapped Barbie," I said.  "She donated her feet to my Barbie Doll Foot earrings.  Be nice to her."

"Right.  And what the heck are these?" she asked, holding up a pair of baby socks with dust mops sewn to the bottom.

"Those are Kevin's.  For when I want him to sweep the floor."

"No comment.  What the heck?" she said, holding up my inflatable bra inserts.  

She said she was glad I didn't bring them along on my cruise.  Miles might have had a stroke.

Kimmy then held up a can of Poop Freeze and I explained to her that it makes Kevin's poop easier to pick up when it's warm outside.

"Freezes it right on the spot," I added. 

Kimmy had nothing to say about my Poop Freeze. 

"What is this?" she asked, holding up what looked like an unraveled ball of black yarn.

"I'm not sure," I said.  "It looks familiar."

She examined it more closely.  "It looks like the yarn is attached to fishnets."

Of course.  My hairy leg fishnet hose.

Damn!  I should have packed those.

Miles might have been following around some other youthful guest.  

Who shaves.

Friday, February 16, 2018

My Second Career

A light bulb went off when I saw Gestalta on the shelf at Ikea.

I'm retired.  I need a new hobby.  I could become and artist and sell my works at cafes and art fairs!

And (gulp) maybe some day to museums!

Really!  No goal is too lofty for me.  I am Lou Clyde.  I just have to aim high and persevere!

So I bought Gestalta as an investment to help me hone and perfect my drawing skills.

It was Dave who told me I had the artistic talents of a Pictionary playing sloth.

Thanks, Dave, for crushing my dreams.

And I wasted $5.99 plus tax on my Gestalta.  I decided to put him on the mantel next to my mannequin leg.

It was Kimmy who told me my Gestalta was creepy.

I took another look at him and I had to agree.  He was naked.  Did I really want porn on my mantel?

He needed clothes, and I was hoping Barbie would lend him something.  It turns out that Gestalta is big-boned compared to Barbie, and, unfortunately, the only thing that fit was her bathing suit.

It was Luke who told me that my bikini clad Gestalta was even creepier than porn star Gestalta.

At this point I was getting really annoyed at the lack of support and respect I was receiving from my family.

But I guess Luke had a point.

So I gave transgender Gestalta a beautiful head of hair.  Except it was uneven.

And the light bulb went off again.

I'm retired.  I need a new hobby. 

I can become a hairdresser!