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Meet Wilbur “The Kermudgeon” Johnson, a writer who is too old to care about feelings, grammar, or spelling. Wilbur is a grumpy old man who’s been writing for decades and has seen it all. He’s at the point where he’ll write whatever he damn well pleases, and if it’s not grammatically correct or spelled correctly, tough luck. He’s not going to waste his time worrying about the little things. Wilbur’s motto is, “If it looks good to me, that’s all that matters.” He’s written everything from romance novels to science fiction to cookbooks, but they have yet to be published. He’s been known to use words that aren’t even in the dictionary, but who cares? Wilbur is a one-man army against the grammar police, and he’s not afraid to take on anyone who challenges him. So if you’re looking for a good laugh and don’t mind a few misspelled words, pick up one of Wilbur’s books if you can find one and prepare to be entertained.
Being the Youngest
Being the youngest in the 1980s wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows for me. I was the family’s designated “remote control,” which meant that whenever my older brother and sister wanted to change the channel on the TV, they would shout, “Hey, remote!” and I would have to come running to do their bidding.
But being the remote control was just the tip of the iceberg. My siblings also loved to pass off all their chores onto me. I remember one time, they convinced me that it was my job to clean the entire house while they went out to play with their friends. I spent the whole day scrubbing floors and doing laundry, only to find out later that they had snuck back in the house while I was working and were watching TV the entire time.
I hated being the youngest in my family. I was always the last to do everything, the last to get a say in anything, and the first to get blamed for anything that went wrong. But looking back, I realize that being the youngest taught me a lot of valuable life lessons, like the importance of hard work and resilience. And hey, at least now I can say that I have a unique skill on my resume – I’m a pro at changing TV channels with plyers in hand!
My First Florida Man Story
One sunny afternoon, I was enjoying my sandwich at Jersey Mike’s subs in Trinity when I saw a hilarious sight. A man wearing a brown paper bag over his head had stopped in front of the restaurant to help a cyclist who had broken down on the side of the road.
At first, I thought I was seeing things, but as I watched, I realized that the man with the paper bag on his head was offering genuine help. He was checking the bike’s tires, offering tools and even providing water to the stranded cyclist.
As the cyclist looked up and saw the man with the paper bag, he couldn’t help but burst into laughter. But the mystery man didn’t seem to mind and continued to offer his assistance, even though his appearance was quite comical.
By the end of the encounter, the cyclist was back on the road, and the man with the paper bag had made a new friend. As he walked away, still wearing the bag on his head, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of the situation.
I couldn’t help but smile as I finished my sandwich, grateful for the unexpected entertainment and the reminder that sometimes the most ordinary moments can be the most amusing.
My First Job
Once upon a time, in a land filled with sizzling patties and crispy fries, I embarked on my first job at the illustrious Burger Chef. Little did I know that this fast-food adventure would be a rollercoaster of laughter, fueled by the antics of my quirky co-workers.
First, there was Benny, the self-proclaimed fry guru. Armed with a spatula in one hand and a smile on his face, Benny would juggle french fries like a seasoned circus performer. He had a knack for flipping them perfectly, but his real talent lay in his ability to sneak a fry or two into his mouth without anyone noticing. We always suspected he had a secret stash hidden somewhere in the restaurant.
Then there was Maria, the queen of customer service. With a dazzling smile and a voice as sweet as a milkshake, she could diffuse even the most irate customers with her charm. Maria had a habit of singing orders to the kitchen crew, turning mundane tasks into a musical extravaganza. It wasn’t uncommon to hear her belting out, “Two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions—on a sesame seed bun!” Her melodious voice brought joy to the entire restaurant.
And who could forget Jerry, the eternal joker? Jerry was the master of pranks and loved to keep us on our toes. One day, he decided to fill the ketchup bottles with colored water, resulting in a rainbow of unexpected condiments on unsuspecting burgers. We couldn’t help but burst into laughter as confused customers stared at their multi-hued masterpieces. Jerry’s laughter was contagious, and we couldn’t stay mad at him for long.
As for me, I was the self-proclaimed “Burger Whisperer.” I took pride in my ability to construct the perfect burger tower, ensuring each layer was stacked with precision. Customers marveled at my burger-building finesse, and I reveled in my burger-sculpting glory. I even perfected the art of flipping patties with flair, earning the title of “Flip Master Supreme” amongst my colleagues.
Our days at Burger Chef were filled with laughter, ridiculous challenges, and an unbreakable bond of camaraderie. We faced the wrath of disgruntled customers, navigated the chaotic lunch rushes, and managed to keep our sanity intact.
Looking back, my first job at Burger Chef was more than just a paycheck. It was a symphony of silliness, a sitcom in fast-food form. I learned the importance of teamwork, the value of a good laugh, and the art of finding joy in the most unexpected places.
So, if you ever find yourself craving a juicy burger and a side of laughter, head on over to Burger Chef. You’ll be greeted by Benny, flipping fries with finesse, serenaded by Maria’s melodic orders, and entertained by Jerry’s mischievous pranks. And who knows, maybe you’ll catch a glimpse of the legendary “Burger Whisperer” crafting a masterpiece that will make your taste buds sing.
Ah, the wonderful world of garage sales. It’s like a treasure hunt for the bargain-loving soul. You wake up early on a Saturday morning, armed with a pocketful of loose change and an ambitious plan to find hidden gems among the mountains of dusty trinkets.
As you pull up to the first garage sale of the day, you can’t help but feel a mix of excitement and curiosity. Will you stumble upon a vintage record player, a rare comic book, or maybe even a magic lamp that grants three wishes? Okay, maybe the last one is a bit of a stretch, but a girl can dream!
You step out of your car, determined to find some great deals, and that’s when you notice it. The irony hits you like a rogue frisbee to the face. Here you are, shopping at garage sales to find items for your own upcoming garage sale. It’s like the circle of garage sale life!
You browse the tables, picking up items and pretending to inspect them with a serious expression, while in reality, you’re mentally calculating how much you could potentially sell them for in your own garage sale. It’s the ultimate hustle, a garage sale within a garage sale.
You strike up conversations with the sellers, asking them about the history of their items and their prices, all the while secretly hoping they undervalue something so you can snatch it up for a steal. It’s a delicate dance of negotiation and haggling, where every dollar counts.
At times, you find yourself torn between buying something you genuinely love and want to keep for yourself, or staying true to your mission of finding inventory for your own sale. It’s a moral dilemma only a garage sale enthusiast can understand.
As the day goes on, you accumulate a growing pile of trinkets, old books, quirky decorations, and vintage clothing. Your car’s trunk is filled to the brim with your newfound treasures. You can’t help but wonder if your neighbors will think you’ve turned your garage into a hoarder’s paradise.
But fear not! Your grand plan is to transform your own garage sale into a haven of irresistible bargains, a place where neighbors and strangers alike will flock to find their own hidden treasures. And if you make a profit in the process, well, that’s just an added bonus.
So, the next time you find yourself at a garage sale, buying items for your own garage sale, remember that you’re not alone in this peculiar pursuit. Embrace the irony, revel in the hunt, and let the garage sale gods guide you to the ultimate deal. Happy bargain hunting!
The Dukes of Hazzard
Being 14 in 1979 was a real treat, especially when it came to watching TV. The Dukes of Hazzard was the show that had us all on the edge of our seats. We’d watch Bo and Luke Duke tear up the back roads of Hazzard County in their trusty car, the General Lee. And let’s not forget about that iconic horn – “Dixie” – which we all tried to replicate on our bikes.
But the real star of the show was Daisy Duke, played by the stunning Catherine Bach. Every boy at school had a crush on her, with her short shorts and pigtails. We’d all dream of being rescued by her from the clutches of Sheriff Rosco P. Coltrane and his bumbling sidekick, Deputy Enos.
Speaking of Rosco, he was the ultimate villain – always chasing after the Duke boys and trying to catch them in the act. But let’s be honest, we loved watching him fail time and time again. He was the perfect comic relief, with his wild eyes and ridiculous schemes.
And who could forget about Boss Hogg, the corrupt county commissioner who always had some new scheme up his sleeve. He was a real piece of work, but we couldn’t help but laugh at his ridiculous antics.
Looking back now, it’s hard to believe how obsessed we were with the Dukes of Hazzard. We’d spend hours reenacting scenes from the show, pretending to be Bo and Luke as we raced around on our bikes. And we all secretly wished we could have our own General Lee, complete with the Confederate flag on the roof.
But alas, we were just 14-year-olds with big dreams and even bigger crushes. The Dukes of Hazzard was our escape from reality, a world where anything was possible and justice always prevailed. It might have been cheesy, but to us, it was pure magic.
So here’s to the Dukes of Hazzard – a show that captured our hearts and imaginations. And if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to find some old episodes on DVD. Yee-haw!
Dear Skinny Girl Products
Dear Skinny Girl Products,
I hope this letter finds you well. I’m writing to you today to express my deep concern and confusion about your brand name. As someone who doesn’t quite fit the skinny mold, I can’t help but wonder why you’ve chosen such an exclusive name for your products.
I mean, really, why is it called Skinny Girl? Why not Skinny Boy? Or how about Skinny Kid, for those of us who never quite outgrew our childhood nicknames? It just seems a little unfair that you’re only catering to one specific demographic.
Don’t get me wrong, I love your products. I mean, who doesn’t love a good low-cal cocktail or snack? But every time I see the name Skinny Girl, I can’t help but feel a little left out. It’s like you’re saying, “Sorry, only skinny girls allowed.”
So, can we talk about rebranding? Maybe you could consider something more inclusive, like Slim Person or Lean Human Being. Or, if you really want to get creative, how about Just Plain Healthy?
I’m not trying to tell you how to run your business, but I think it’s worth considering the impact that your brand name has on people. Let’s make sure everyone feels welcome and included, regardless of their size or gender.
Sincerely, The Kermudgeon
Pants & Sundays Off
Have you ever wondered why the infamous columnist known as The Kurmudgeon doesn’t publish on Sundays? Well, let me tell you, it’s not because he’s at church or taking a day off to rest. Oh no, it’s because he’s out there living his best life, causing chaos and mayhem wherever he goes.
You see, The Kurmudgeon is not your average columnist. He’s not content with just sitting behind a desk and writing about his opinions. No, he likes to get out there and experience life to the fullest. And what better day to do that than on Sundays, when the world is his oyster?
So, what does The Kurmudgeon do on Sundays, you ask? Well, for starters, he likes to go to the local farmer’s market and loudly complain about the prices of organic produce. He’ll wander around, grumbling to anyone who will listen about how back in his day, you could get a whole bag of apples for a nickel.
After that, he might head over to the park and yell at children for playing too loudly. He’ll sit on a bench, scowling at anyone who comes near, muttering about how kids these days have no respect.
But that’s not all. The Kurmudgeon might also take a trip to the mall, where he’ll loudly criticize anyone he sees wearing skinny jeans or using a selfie stick. He’ll wander around, shaking his head and sighing deeply, lamenting the state of fashion and technology.
So, you see, The Kurmudgeon is not just a columnist. He’s a man on a mission, a man who refuses to let the world pass him by. And if that means taking Sundays off to go out and spread his curmudgeonly ways, then so be it. The world could use a little more grumpiness, after all.
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My First Date
As I nervously walked into CK’s revolving restaurant on St. Pete Beach, I couldn’t help but feel a mixture of excitement and terror. This was my first real date with a girl, and I had no idea what to expect. But as soon as I saw her sitting at our table, all my fears melted away. She was stunning, with long blonde hair and a bright smile that lit up the room.
As we began to chat, I found myself completely captivated by her charm and wit. We laughed and joked like old friends, and before I knew it, the waiter was bringing our food. We savored the delicious cuisine and enjoyed the panoramic views of the beach below as the restaurant slowly turned.
But as the night wore on, things started to get a little more complicated. We had finished our meals and were just enjoying each other’s company when I suddenly felt a rumble in my stomach. At first, I tried to ignore it, but soon it became clear that I was in serious trouble. I excused myself to go to the bathroom, hoping to relieve the pressure.
But as I sat there in the stall, I realized that this was no ordinary stomachache. I was trapped in a desperate battle with my own digestive system, and the outcome was far from certain. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I emerged from the bathroom, sweating and pale.
To her credit, my date was sympathetic and understanding, even as I tried to hide the discomfort on my face. But just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, disaster struck. As we made our way down the stairs to leave the restaurant, my shoe slipped on a wet spot and I went tumbling down the steps, taking her with me.
As we lay there in a tangled heap at the bottom of the stairs, I couldn’t help but feel like this was the worst date in history. But to my surprise, she just laughed it off and helped me to my feet. We brushed ourselves off and continued on our way, both of us a little worse for wear but still smiling.
As we said our goodbyes at the end of the night, I knew that this was a date I would never forget. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real, and that was all that mattered. And who knows? Maybe we’ll even have the guts to try CK’s revolving restaurant again someday.
My First Day of High School in 1979
As I walked into the towering brick building of Jefferson High School in Tampa, Florida, I knew I was in for an adventure. My bright yellow pantsuit with matching headband and oversized glasses would surely make me the talk of the school, and I couldn’t wait to see the reactions of my new classmates.
As I strolled down the hallway, trying to look cool and confident, I heard a loud snicker behind me. I turned around to see a group of football players pointing and laughing at my outfit. Undeterred, I flashed them a peace sign and strutted away, feeling like a true rebel.
In my first class, I was pleasantly surprised to find that my teacher was none other than Mr. T, the iconic star of “The A-Team.” But my excitement quickly turned to confusion as he bellowed, “I pity the fool who can’t solve this equation!” and slammed a textbook on my desk.
During lunch, I made my way to the cafeteria, where I was confronted with the most perplexing food options I had ever seen. Was that a slice of pizza topped with marshmallows? And why were there carrots in the Jell-O? I decided to stick with a PB&J sandwich, but as I took a bite, I realized too late that it was filled with hot sauce instead of jelly.
As I made my way home on the bus, exhausted from my first day of high school, I realized that it was going to be a wild ride. But with my yellow pantsuit and oversized glasses as my armor, I was ready to take on anything that came my way.
Seeing The Eagles in 1980 Tampa Stadium AKA the Sombrero
Ah, the Eagles concert at Tampa Stadium. The year was 1980, and I was a fresh-faced 14-year-old with a dream in my heart and a roll of quarters in my pocket.
The first hurdle to overcome was convincing my parents that going to a rock concert was a good idea. After much pleading and promises to do extra chores, they finally relented and gave me permission to go. I was over the moon!
Next came the challenge of saving up enough money for a ticket. As a teenager with no real job, this was easier said than done. But I scrounged and saved every penny I could find, until finally I had enough for a ticket in the nosebleed section.
The day of the concert was a hot and humid Florida day. The kind of day where you can’t tell if you’re sweating or if it’s just raining on your face. I arrived at the stadium hours early, brimming with anticipation.
As I took my seat in the stands, I couldn’t help but notice the vast sea of humanity stretching out before me. There were hippies, yuppies, and metalheads, all united by a common love for the Eagles.
As the sun began to set and the opening act took the stage, the energy in the stadium began to build. I sang along with the crowd, swaying to the music and feeling like I was part of something bigger than myself.
And then, finally, the moment arrived. The Eagles took the stage, and the crowd erupted into cheers. They played all their hits – “Hotel California,” “Take it Easy,” “Desperado” – and I sang along at the top of my lungs.
As the night wore on and the concert came to a close, I felt a sense of deep satisfaction. I had saved my money, convinced my parents, and made it to the Eagles concert. And even though I was tired, sweaty, and hoarse, I knew that this was a memory I would cherish forever.
Looking back on that night now, I can’t help but smile. It was a simpler time, when all you needed was a roll of quarters and a dream to make something happen. And even though I’ve grown older and wiser since then, I still look back on that 14-year-old kid with a sense of pride and admiration. He knew what he wanted, and he went out and got it.
Ginger Or Maryanne Who Would Win?
It’s a classic question that has stumped men for decades: Ginger or Maryann? The two lovely ladies from Gilligan’s Island have been the topic of many debates among groups of friends, and it’s time to settle the score once and for all.
On one hand, you have Ginger, the stunning red-headed movie star with a sultry voice and curves in all the right places. She’s the epitome of Hollywood glamour and sophistication, with a wardrobe to match. Men swoon at the sight of her and dream of being the one to sweep her off her feet.
On the other hand, you have Maryann, the sweet, girl-next-door type with a heart of gold and a down-to-earth personality. She’s cute, bubbly, and always up for an adventure. Her simple, wholesome charm has won over many a man’s heart, and she’s the kind of girl you could bring home to meet your parents.
So, who would you choose? It’s a tough call, but here are some things to consider:
If you’re looking for a glamorous night out on the town, then Ginger is your girl. She’ll make sure you’re dressed to the nines and ready to turn heads. But if you’re more interested in a casual day at the beach or a picnic in the park, then Maryann is the better choice. She’ll bring the sandwiches and lemonade, and you can relax and enjoy each other’s company.
If you’re looking for a conversation partner, Ginger is your girl, with her knowledge of the latest Hollywood gossip and her sophisticated wit. But if you want someone who’s easy to talk to and down-to-earth, then Maryann is the one for you. She’ll listen attentively and share her own stories with you.
And let’s not forget about the practicalities. Ginger might be high maintenance, with her designer clothes and constant need for attention. and dating a red head is like riding on the most dangerous roller coaster in the world, by the time it is all over–never again. One year later, you are back on that same rollercoaster. while Maryann is low-key and easy to please. Ginger might break your heart with her fickle ways, while Maryann is loyal and committed.
So, who would you choose? Ultimately, it comes down to personal preference. Some of your friends might be drawn to Ginger’s glamour, while others might prefer Maryann’s simplicity. But one thing is for sure – this debate will continue to rage on for years to come, with no clear winner in sight.
I Wish They All Could be 1980’s Girls
Ah, the 1980s. A time of neon clothes, big hair, and some of the greatest girls to ever grace the planet. If you didn’t grow up in the 80s, you missed out on a time when girls were truly rad.
First of all, let’s talk about the hair. You know what they say – the higher the hair, the closer to heaven. And boy, did the girls of the 80s take that to heart. Aqua Net was their weapon of choice, and they wielded it with precision. Their hair was teased and sprayed into gravity-defying styles that could make a man weak in the knees. And let’s not forget about the scrunchies. Oh, the scrunchies. These girls knew how to accessorize, and a neon scrunchie was the perfect way to complete any outfit.
Speaking of outfits, the 80s girls were fashion icons. They rocked acid-washed jeans, leg warmers, and oversized sweatshirts like nobody’s business. And let’s not forget about the neon spandex. Who else could make neon spandex look so good? These girls were the queens of layering, too. They could wear a miniskirt over leggings, with a denim jacket on top, and still look cool.
But it wasn’t just about the clothes and the hair. The 80s girls had attitude. They were tough, independent, and didn’t take crap from anyone. They knew how to handle themselves, whether it was in a dance-off or a street fight. They were the ultimate badasses, and every guy wanted to be with them and every girl wanted to be them.
And let’s not forget about the music. The 80s girls had the best music to dance to. They could groove to Michael Jackson, sing along to Madonna, and headbang to Guns N’ Roses. And when they slow danced to a power ballad, it was pure magic.
In short, the 1980s girls were the bomb. They were fierce, fashionable, and just plain fun. They knew how to have a good time, and they did it in style. If you didn’t have a crush on an 80s girl back then, you missed out on one of life’s greatest pleasures. Here’s to you, 80s girls. You were truly something special.
Ah, to be 5 years old in 1970.
It was a time of bell-bottoms, platform shoes, and some truly questionable fashion choices. But for me, a 5-year-old kid living in small-town America, life was pretty simple. Here are some of the highlights of being a 5-year-old in 1970:
Playing with toys that would now be considered dangerous weapons
Back then, toys were made to last. And I don’t just mean they were durable – I mean they were built like tanks. Take the metal Tonka trucks, for example. These things were practically indestructible, and they had the weight to back it up. I remember using my Tonka dump truck to haul rocks around the yard, and I’m pretty sure I could have used it to knock down a wall if I’d wanted to.
And let’s not forget about lawn darts. Yes, you read that right – lawn darts. These were basically giant metal spikes that you threw at a target. Sounds safe, right? Well, let’s just say that they were eventually banned for a reason.
Watching TV shows that would now be considered wildly inappropriate
Remember the show “The Dukes of Hazzard”? Of course you do – who could forget the General Lee and those epic car chases? But if you watch it now, you’ll probably be surprised at how many racist and sexist undertones there were. And let’s not forget about shows like “The Brady Bunch” and “Gilligan’s Island”, which were full of outdated gender stereotypes.
But back in 1970, we didn’t really think about any of that. We just wanted to see some cool cars and watch Gilligan mess things up (again).
Eating food that would now be considered a health hazard
If you grew up in the 70s, you probably remember eating things like Tang, Kool-Aid, and Twinkies. And while we thought these were the height of culinary sophistication, we now know that they’re basically just sugar in various forms.
But hey, at least we got some vitamins from the Tang, right?
Having no idea what the future would hold
Back in 1970, we had no concept of things like smartphones, the internet, or social media. We couldn’t even imagine the technology that would be available to us today.
But you know what? That was kind of nice. We didn’t have to worry about cyberbullying, online privacy, or any of the other challenges that come with living in a hyper-connected world. We just played with our Tonka trucks, watched our favorite TV shows, and ate our Twinkies.
All in all, being 5 in 1970 was a pretty great time. Sure, there were some questionable toys, TV shows, and foods, but we didn’t know any better. And looking back on it now, I wouldn’t trade those simpler times for anything.
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