The lines are already getting long at Post Office. I went twice last week. The first time, I ran out of patience and left. The pick-a-number system revealed too many people ahead of me. However, being a smart male, I got there early the next trip, 8:15. This time there were eleven folks ahead of me. Ten were male. Seven of those ten were wearing pants with elastic waistbands. My people!
Don't expect much from me for Christmas. Several years back, I figured I was spending way too much time searching for presents that were just right. To hell with that. My eureka moment came when I realized everyone on my list can always use another clock. Besides, at my age, time is the most precious gift I can give. This weekend, I came face to face with the danger in this quaint approach. More than 20 clocks were sitting on the table with new batteries and the price tags removed, just waiting to be wrapped. Twenty. Then one of the clock alarms started ringing...
Among the reasons I cannot vote for Mitt Romney, what with all the domestic spying authorized under the Bush administration, I don't want the Mormon missionaries to know where I live.
Why can't cops shoot to wound rather than kill? Because, that's why. In New York, policemen hit their intended target only 43% of the time when they are within six feet of the bad guy. Outside six feet, the percentage plummets. So, at the academy, they teach shoot to stop the threat.
Say adieu to the American entree. People just don't want 17 bites of all that protein anymore. Enter sushi, tapas and dim sum. Seventeen bites?