Category: Fourre-tout

Those libidinous cretins who sexually harassed women never had any idea of what they were doing. Anybody with half a brain knows that you don’t seduce a woman by forcing yourself on her; you let her come to you. You attract the ladies with a lure, and the ultimate bait in this domain is a puppy.

Nobody, absolutely nobody can resist the antics of a young dog. At least not me. I literally melt when I see one and I absolutely have to pet it.

Most of the women feel the same way. You don’t have to use any devious trick to pull them in. They will approach you on their own to fondle your little “accroche-coeur”. A puppy you should know, is pure Kryptonite. Even the Man of Steel is powerless when confronted with it.

After the lady approaches you and pets the pup, it is up to you to charm her. According to Marilyn Monroe “If you can make a woman laugh, you can make her do anything.” I absolutely believe that. So along with your puppy bring a few witty remarks; one of those could be the arrow that penetrates the heart of your Dulcinea.

As you can see, there is absolutely no need for grabbing or do anything contrary to good taste.

When you are looking for love, puppy power is the way to go. Never mind these dating sites where creeps pretend to be what they are not. When somebody approaches your puppy, you can see what he or she looks like and how he/she behaves. Your puppy might even sniff out the phony, the “pretend” puppy lover and pee on her/his shoes.

So, don’t grope… get a puppy. And even if your little guy proves unable to snare (difficult to believe) a would-be lover, you will still have somebody who will love you like nobody ever will.

Andy Rooney said, “The average dog is a nicer person than the average person.” I believe that.

So ladies and gentlemen, don’t look for love in the wrong places. If you want to find “l’amour” get a puppy!
It is beyond a shadow of a doubt the ultimate chick/dude magnet!

Alain

I just saw the light! Alleluia! No, I was not reborn, but it was an experience close to it.

While I was on Thanksgiving assignment, I experienced a revelation; The Great Spirit… somebody? disclosed to me how to deal with a long nagging problem.

Periodically, especially in Fall and Winter, we have to clean and groom our pétanque court. Club members usually perform the work, but it is an arduous slog, especially for stiff-back old timers.

While visiting our grandson, I suddenly saw the light! Praise be the Thanksgiving spirits!
I noticed that the little tyke (aged 2 and a half) armed with a broom and dustpan was assiduously scrubbing an alley littered with dead leaves. He was working steadily and had no rest until the pathway looked as immaculate as a bowling lane.

So then, I asked myself, why are we asking tired, gray-haired denizens to perform tasks that could so easily be accomplished by enthusiastic toddlers?

I suggest that when the field needs cleaning, we round up all our grandchildren, equip them with rakes (or whatever tool they chose) and set them loose in our court. The kids will get some fresh air and exercise instead of misspending their time playing gory video games.

“Children are great imitators. So give them something great to imitate.” 

Adults would do their fair share by keeping an eye on them and steering them with the various whistle signals that work so well with sheepdogs.

It is a win-win proposition. Kids will have some invigorating fun and adults could rest their aching backs. After the job is done, a round of carrots, watermelon, and broccoli will be graciously offered to the workers.
Diapers and pacifiers will also be provided, free of charge.

So whaddya say goldenagers? Isn’t this a constructive, innovative proposition?

Make America scrape again! Get those coddled toddlers out of nursery school and back on the pétanque courts where they belong.

Due to undue pressure from politically correct folks, I might have to recant my suggestion, but like Galileo Galilei said: “And yet it moves…”

Alain

As a child my family’s menu consisted of two choices: take it or leave it. Buddy Hackett

By Noel Marcovecchio
Copyright 1995, 2017

We all watched as O’Toole cranked in his line. He tried to look cool but we could tell how thrilled he was. Over the side, we saw the fish below the surface as O’Toole continued to reel it in. What a beauty; I had never seen a fish so large. The salmon was about to be netted and excitement ran high. If one hit O’Toole’s line it surely wouldn’t be long before rest of us would catch fish too.

The crewman put the long-handled net over the side waiting for the fish to be brought a little closer. Suddenly, the tip of the rod shot up and O’Toole fell backward onto the deck. In the blink of an eye, the silver prize was gone. No one said anything as O’Toole got to his feet and reeled in the remainder of his limp line. The skipper grabbed the line and examined it. O’Toole had forgotten to close the clip which held the rig in place; it was the reason fish escaped. “Putz” the skipper said to no one in particular as he returned to the wheelhouse.

“Jesus Christ, O’Toole,” Capogrosso shouted. “Don’t you know how to set up a rig by now?” I hope you aren’t going to live up to your nickname.” O’Toole turned very red as Capogrosso resumed his place at the rail.

“What’s his nickname?” I asked.

“El Niño,” Billy replied. “After they got skunked the last time Capogrosso started calling him El Niño.”

El Niño is a weather condition that can happen in late December hence the reference to baby Jesus. It’s a complex situation but its warm weather that negatively affects coastal fishing.

“I’m even surprised he let O’Toole come out with us,” Billy added.

For the rest of the day we drifted and trolled; moaned and cursed; drank and got sick. I think we did everything you could do on a boat but catch fish. The skipper threw a line in the water and in no time caught a fish, which was quickly followed by another. They weren’t as big as the one that got away but they were the only fish we had. We continued on for another hour without a single bite and finally, the skipper decided he had enough for one day and headed for home.

The trip back in was worse than the voyage out. In the morning we were full of hope and enthusiasm but the trip back was a boatload of disappointment and fatigue. As time crept by everybody started thinking about the two fish the skipper had caught. Suddenly, as if he could read minds the skipper appeared shuffling a deck of cards.

“We’re going to draw for the fish.” He said.

He spread out the cards and we each took one. I drew the queen of hearts; my chances were good. The queen was a high card but O’Toole had drawn a queen too. He and I had to draw again. We stuck our cards back in the deck and the skipper shuffled. I, like all of the Mangiapane’s, had grown up with a deck of cards in my hand so following a card in a deck being shuffled by an amateur was a breeze. He spread the cards and I quickly pulled out the queen of hearts again. O’Toole drew a four; the fish was mine. The winner of second fish was decided the same way but without me. If I pulled the queen for a third time to win the second fish, I might have found myself swimming back home.

We finally arrived in Sausalito and, one by one stepped on to the dock. It felt weird since our legs had gotten used to standing on the deck in constant motion; I welcomed the stability. The events of the day are just about done. I saw a lot of empty-handed fishermen come ashore from other boats. I felt better as I walked to my car with a cleaned salmon in a plastic bag but as I reached my car a guy ran up to me.

“Hey, were you on the Courageous Caruso?”

“That’s right.”

“That’s your fish?”

“Yeah.”

“Boy, we didn’t catch anything; you must really know how to fish. What did you catch it on?

“Two queens.”

The End