This pandemic is driving us crazy, By us, I mean the world.

We made reservations at a nice place on the island. Gilligan’s Island. I should have known it wasn’t the proper island when they didn’t have head hunters, millionaires, professors and hot actresses.

It was simply an island for baboons like us. Our reservation was turned down because the head chef came down with a cace of the “trotts.” We returned to our home, starving for coconut, pineapple and maize, only to find none of it.

Last Resort; Dairy Queen

We didn’t know reservations were required at Dairy Queen, but as starvation consumes your body to the point of insanity, Dairy Queen was our last resort.

When entering the line at DQ, there were eight cars in front of us. I panicked, and without a mask, I busted in, unarmed, but they thought my intent was to rob, steal, and perhaps kill. All we wanted was a blizzard. They, said, “wait in line, you damn dirty ape. It may be two hour and 47 minute wait”

I didn’t know what that meant but we did wait in line, put on our friendly masks and received a blizzard.

The next time we go to DQ, we will ask for a reservation.

Sadly, I’m admitting to the world my teeth are not as white as the wooden ones displayed by George Washington Bush in Death Valley Forge.

My wife just purchased me some Colgate. She was sold at “Yellow Enhancing.” She went on and on and on saying her husband was suffering from stupidity. Britt also said my teeth looked like I’d eaten mustard for twenty straight years at a minor league baseball game on one dollar dog and beer night before the caveman years.

I additionally developed a severe, and unusual case of canine jaundice,

Praying each night and morning, I always hope I find God on the same time zone. Much like times, bets and sins, I try to cover them in.a warm blanket of time zones. (it works out well when you think you have to meet with your copy editor and he or she is on Easter Zone. I meant Eastern Phone. )

Back to less important issues, II just want God, him or her, I don’t really give a shit, to hear me speak, or see me on my knees, but if I’m communicating in the wrong time zone, all Hell breaks loose…..literally.

I pray for people daily. I’m sorry if the prayers arrive three hours late.

I do mean well.

“I’ll raise you five Harriets for one of your Jacksons.”

(Ben Gannon)

Gambling Currency Glossary of terms:

I’ll bet a….

C-Note, century, Benny or Benjamin Franklin. That’s 100 dollars.

A Johnny:That’s a two dollar bill representing our second president, and much like second place, no one remembers him properly and bets a currency which is almost obsolete.

An Honest Abe: The five dollar bill. The only thing dishonest about this bill is when you place a bet and win, the man in debt to you skips town.

An A .J. (Andrew Jackson) Twenty dollars. That’s not worth a Yankee Dime, unless slavery is your thing.

Some Wampum: Tobacco, maize or quality mash.

The fifty dollar bill: That’s a Grant. Not many gamblers carry these anymore, but five dimes equals a Grant.

One large: That’s one thousand Georges. One dollar bills. Our first President would be selling his wooden teeth as wampum if he knew he was the lowest form of currency.

Let’s take a deep and sorrowful dive into the depths of the 45 dollar bill. That bill would be bright red, adorned with snakes, littered with hooves of lies, a deceitful haircut and “In Evil, We Trust.”

Sadly, years ago, many people close to me may have thought I had a gambling problem…until I struck it rich and quit. No problem. Then, my friends following me developed their own problem and blamed it on me. Once they find that pot of gold at the end of the bookie’s ass, they’ll finally get it. When you find that pot of fool’s gold, you go two directions. Quit or take a right. Quitting was always the best option. Taking a right hook is up to you.

Even when you quit serious gambling, you are plagued with gambling credibility and guilt. Calls continue from right field to center and left asking for advice on the latest game. That’s the worst. I was blamed for so many losses (and divorces) for others taking my thin as ice advice, I would have nightmares wondering if they could afford their next month’s rent. That’s when I informed my friends I was officially out.

Since then, the gambling demons have not surfaced, (I do friendly bet on occasion with friends and brothers) but an annual call does ask for my Super Bowl pick. I just laugh, and say, “flip a coin”. Heads they win, and tails you lose.That’s the best I’ve got. Or, bet on Brady. He will probably be the first Quarterback whose face is on the Billion Dollar Bill.

Regarding the names of currency, I will give my vote for one monumental, courageous, intelligent, noble person deserving to be placed on the Twenty Dollar Bill. Harriet Tubman should replace that slave owning ass hat known as Andrew Jackson.

Proudly, I have a friend, all of 94 years of age willing to take the covid vaccination. That takes moxie. I would have written “balls”, but he doesn’t need those anymore.

As a former gambler, I looked up the Vegas odds regarding his life expectancy, post vaccination. Amazed, Vegas was far too righteous to take any bets. Vegas!????

Smuckers, the Today Show King of Jelly, good wishes, thoughts, and fare thee wells, was willing to toss out some odds. The over under on our friend is currently one hundred and ten. As a longtime friend, wishing my buddy, Marshall, to live past one hundred and ten, I took the over. My brother, also a lifetime friend and realist, bet the under, but just so he could sleep peacefully at night, never wishing to bet on someone’s demise, he did wish him to live at least until one hundred and nine.

Whichever man wins this wager will be supplied a lifetime supply of Smucker’s Grape Jelly. My bookie is currently on the line with Wonder Bread and Jif.

Marshall didn’t wish to participate.

A few years from now, all the students of the world can trash those ridiculously outdated history books no one reads anymore, but are used as a supplement for teachers who still believe the Berlin Wall remains upright and the USSR is not just an APP, but a country.

We are witnessing a very critical, positive moment and perhaps moments in our great and sometimes tarnished history of America. Most of us are celebrating not only the first woman Vice President, but also recognizing her to be the first woman of color to represent our separated Nation. As a white boy growing up in the 70’s 80’s and 90’s, I remember my father saying, “One day, a great leader of our country will be crowned President of the United States. He or she will be a qualified man or woman, black or white, but it will happen. That’s when I’ll have hope for America again.” His republican friends thought my father shouldn’t fog his ideas with booze and common decency. My father was the most sober of the bunch.

Well, I hope my father is rejoicing in heaven. No fireworks, no busting beer glasses over heads with Irish and Scottish glee, just a sigh of relief knowing we can evolve.

What’s the difference between a mob and an angry mob? It’s a trick question for morons. There is no difference. A mob is a mob. Just watch the Simpsons.

The mayor of Springfield: “Let’s kill everyone!”

Community of Springfield: “Hurray!!

I am legally blind, but I can hear and have developed a keen sense of smell. That’s what separates me from the pigeons. They enjoy crackers. I like chocalate milk. Who really cares?

Wake up and smell the pigeons.

Wednesday used to be referred as “Hump Day”.

While teaching with sixth grade female teachers, the male seventh grade teaching pigs were not allowed to use this phrase. The female teachers deemed that day blasphemous when it wasn’t ok to have sexual relations in the cafeteria, locker room, boiler room, playground or gymnasium.

They had it all wrong. The male teachers always thought that day was just that much closer to drinking on Friday.

A snowball to the face, or central man region, hurts. But, not as much as Covid. I was wondering if anything good can come of this God awful pandemic, especially during the holidays. Here’s where I went.

Wherever there is snow, youngsters take advantage of that snow. A good snowball fight can calm the nerves, ease some suffering, and ultimately fight an enemy which must be destroyed…..your neighborhood ‘snow toughs’. It’s a perfect Covid fight where many kids cry, but nobody dies.

In our neighborhood, there was a gang referred to as the “Carbones.” They ran every carnival in town and had links to the “BoneCars”. They ran the local demolition derby and bumper cars on Sundays. The Carbones would schedule their derby during Catholic mass when all the fathers were plowing snow. It was a great escape and excuse for the fathers praying they could get the Sunday off.

Snowball fights tend to be socially distant, which is a key requirement for Covid safety protocol. Usually, unless you run out of snow, those in snowball combat will not get closer than six feet before tossing and hurling wet ice balls directly at your forehead. Ice balls are considered Christmas War Crimes. Rocks in the balls? You can look at that at two ways. Look away or run away.

Thinking back to a neighborhood snowball fight when we were kids, my brothers and I fought fair. We’d wad up a ball and toss it at the opponent as though we were Roberto Clemente. (Best right arm in the game.) The Carbones would get nasty. As God’s wet flakes landed on the tongues and yellow teeth of the Carbones, it would melt into a volcano of sulfuric filth. We were terrified but stood our ground. As the Carbones approached, we were well armed, and we even had a snowball sniper on our roof in case things turned ugly. His name was Joe. (Unfortunately, a Carbone picked him off when he briefly lost attention to make yellow snow). God rest his soul.

Although we thought we were winning, one of the Carbones spat in the snowball, crossed the line and crammed it in the mouth of one of ours. (This would break COVID safety protocol nowadays.) It was a kamikaze mission. That rendered us defenseless.

As I reflect on those snowball fights, I realize that COVID has nothing on the Carbones. Thankfully, they aren’t around cramming yellow snowballs in our faces, and if we’re lucky enough to have snowfall this holiday, we can rest assure that most snowball fights will be appropriately safe and socially distanced.

Stay warm…Happy Holidays

Singing is not my weapon of choice, although it should be since I don’t own a weapon other than the friendly Lousville Slugger.

When carolers come to our house, they scatter when I open the door with a bat. It’s pretty cute. Perhaps the real reason they never come back is because I’m wearing eighties clothing.